Out of the mid-wood's twilight into the meadow's dawn | OTA

[faithlikeaseed]

Who: fauns fauns FAUNS (and their enablers) (and anyone else)
When: Octeuril 31st
Where: The Haven
What: Somebody set up a trap specifically designed for Fauns. Or tried, anyway.
Warnings: F for Faunery; warnings per thread as needed!


It's a lovely day in Aefenglom and you are a horrible beautiful Faun.

Somewhere between the evening of the 30th and the midnight advent of the 31st, a disused corner of the Haven has turned into a patch of cultivated wilderness. Somewhere a little after midnight on the 31st, and the beginning of the full moons, several Fauns (and one or two others, Monsters and Witches alike) received an enthusiastic if slightly garbled written invitation to come see what awaits.

Gourd vines of all descriptions drape an abandoned cottage, its floating terraces, and half of a nearby house. Flowers in a riot of colors decorate them, some glowing softly and others exuding a fragrant perfume. The fruits hanging pendant or nestled on the ground defy description and beg to be tasted: There are tiny pumpkins no larger than grapes, thin-skinned and sweet, while massive savory marrows lurk in the underbrush to trip the unwary. A rare fist-sized specimen glimmers with enchantment and grants a rush of energy when eaten--along with fleeting, unpredictable changes (horns, fur, hooves) that make one a little more faunish for an hour or two.

Cheap furniture, clotheslines, and hanging sheets have been used to roughly shape the vines into an impromptu maze. The design's irregular, wandering, like whoever planned the corridors couldn't see what he was doing. It wanders in and out of the cottage, pouching into dead-ends and cozy little clearings that might fit two comfortably and three if they're familiar. Some of them have benches in them; others, piles of pillows; and still others are carpeted in thick and flowering moss. Heavy quilts in a riot of colors and patterns can be found neatly folded in the buildings, waiting for chilled revelers to find them. There are also covered braziers for the truly cold, though they seem powered by magic and not by flame.

Food and drink are lavishly if haphazardly provided, spread out through the bowers like a treasure hunt. Casks of mead with cups attendant, bowls of honey candy and glazed nuts, fruit both fresh and dried, and a variety of different sorts of cheese provide an ample repast (so long as one's not hungry for blood or meat). Entertainment's on the guests to provide, with simple musical instruments (mostly pipes, an occasional lap-harp) gracing many of the grottos; others have toys and games, of varieties both innocent...and not...strewn about them.

There are also oddities here and there in the maze, like the bower where someone took painstaking care to tie a half-hundred feathers to the low vine ceiling. Another nook teams with stingless bees of all varieties during the day. What else might await someone who's looking?

Comments

[scowlish]

[The interest is genuine, and Onni nods when Reynir asks him that question, then continues comfortably following and listening when he keeps talking about the story. Onni hadn't expected so much about what kind of guys Reynir is into but he finds that he doesn't mind having the information. His head is spinning pleasantly and for once his mind isn't spinning itself out in a torrent of overthinking and rumination, so he's comfortable admitting to himself that, for whatever reason, he's interested.

The surprising thing is the type of guys that Reynir says he's into. Not the arrogant reckless hero, because those types of people do more harm than good when they act without thinking, and get people hurt. Then he goes on to explain that he'd always had a thing for the guys in the margins of the stories, the quiet ones who helped people and made a difference without being bold and flippant, but made an effort to be serious and thoughtful about it. It's strange how the way Reynir says that his friends thought those characters were the most boring echoes the way he'd been thinking about himself just a few minutes before, but quantifies it that he'd be in love with those 'boring' characters.

Something in Onni's gut thumps a little in a not entirely unpleasant way, and he raises his brows with a soft hum of consideration.]

It makes sense, I guess. You're more outgoing and impulsive, so that kind of person would balance you out pretty well. It would make sense for people to be attracted to those who could provide what they're missing.

[After a moment, he shrugs.]

Though I guess I can't really speak on that like an expert, it isn't as if I've been in a relationship before, or even tried one.

[Glancing over at Reynir, the thought occurs to him that the Bond actually is the closest he's had to a relationship so far in his life, and that thought makes that thumping flutter happen again. He feels a flush of heat through his face and upper body, and looks away again, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Reynir will probably feel it through the Bond.]

So what happened to that hero in the end?

[braidmage]

[ Reynir's smile grows a little embarrassed, when Onni calls him outgoing and impulsive. But the words don't sound like insults coming from Onni's mouth, even if they might have if Reynir had been the one saying them. That thought hits harder than he'd expected, gives him pause. Onni may have his blind spots, but he can sometimes be a keen observer of other people's traits. And Onni knows him better than... just about anybody, now. So if those are accurate terms about himself, according to Onni, and Reynir's first response to them is to think of them as negative...

Well, he just has a bit of clarity, in that moment, that maybe he should practice a little more of what he preaches, when he tells Onni he ought to work on his self-esteem. ]

C'mon, Onni. You can speak on whatever. You're still - you still know people, you've known people in good relationships and bad ones and you've read books and you're - just - don't worry so much about 'experts' and who can talk about what. 'Cause you're right.

[ Reynir does feel something through the Bond - a twinge of emotion that he can't put a name to. When he looks at Onni, looking away from him and so flushed, he thinks perhaps it is embarrassment, or maybe drunkenness. Both? No, though - there is something sweeter in it, too.

Whatever the feeling is... he kind of likes it. ]

He sailed off, with the sacrifices that were still alive. I'm pretty sure he was supposed to have a ton of other adventures, there were all these ads for other books in the series in the back, but we only ever had that one. So I'm not really sure. I hope he got a happy ending.

[scowlish]

[The words certainly aren't meant as insults - in fact, if Onni is saying that people seek the things they're missing, then those are things that someone could be missing which means they're things they're in need of. He knows that much about himself, that he could stand to be more outgoing and impulsive, though both of those things are foreign and terrifying to him. At the same time, as he gets more and more familiar with Reynir, those same things are the things that draw Onni in, that make Reynir more interesting.

Glancing over at Reynir, he watches him as he says that Onni can speak on whatever because he knows people, that he's known people in good relationships and bad ones. That he's read books. That he shouldn't worry about whether he can talk about this topic because of his experiences. That he's right.

Some part of him, deep down, recognizes that there's a connection there. That Reynir provides things that he's missing, and he provides things that Reynir is missing. That the traits that Reynir had described from the hero in his book fit Onni's better traits.]

Mm. I suppose that's true. I guess it seemed different to me, to apply that to relationships, because they don't strike me as...following any sort of predictable pattern.

[A shrug. He's having a hard time expressing what he's thinking, mind muddled as it is with alcohol. It feels like a maze, as much as the one they're walking through right now.]

The Bond is the closest I've had to something like that, I think.

[But he leaves it at that, when Reynir explains the end of the story, and makes a soft hum in his throat.]

I'm sure if he handled things in that way, he probably had a happy ending.

[braidmage]

[ And just like that, Onni is agreeing with him. Granting that, sure, Reynir is right, and maybe he can speak on this even if he isn't an expert. It is such a little thing, but it still makes Reynir's heart stutter with happiness. Because there was a time, he thinks, when Onni would have dug in and argued. Would have insisted that other people know all about that stuff, marked himself as separate. And now, he isn't, and...

Reynir knows he shouldn't hope, because of that. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't. And yet the excited hope is there, a glowing bright point somewhere deep in his chest. No amount of telling himself he's just reading too much into it all can extinguish it.

He squeezes Onni's hand, when he says the Bond is the closest he'd had to - to what? A relationship? To someone who can balance him out, provide what he's missing? Reynir wants nothing more than to be that person. To soften Onni's edges, be softened by him in turn. To find all the cracks left in him by loss and loneliness and pour love into them until they're overflowing.

Reynir doesn't reply in words. His heart is too full for that, and if he spoke he would probably just say I love you or something silly like that, and he doesn't want to rush things. If there is a chance, any chance at all, that Onni might someday return his affections... he should wait. He shouldn't be reckless. Not when the stakes were so high — when the stakes were maybe hurting Onni by going too fast.

So instead he just bumps his head affectionately against Onni's shoulder, and turns his attention to the maze, eagerness filling him up as he says: ]

Come on. I think we must be getting close to the center, now...