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

[wylderrant]

[ Oh, dear. Well, Iramaat supposes that's a sort of dance, but it leaves a bit to be desired, doesn't it? No movement of the arms, just a sort of rhythmic hopping back and forth... although if her new audience is content with that, she can't really second-guess her, can she? ]

Well, if there's no one here to listen, then it will go unappreciated! Except by me, of course, but I'm the one playing, so it's a little different.

[stopfen]

[Oh deer, she was trying. Even if oddly resembled a bird hopping around on the ground. More curious than a proper dance. Arms held out a little behind her, hands pointing up... There was some minor airplane arms going on.

But that was the human arms. The longer barb covered mantis arms were a bit more active. After lightly wafting for a moment, they were hooking into the surrounding vines to pull the fae up as she climbed.

She's going to hang up here and swing around, on the high ground. What could go wrong? Other than the attempt at humming along a few seconds behind.]

[wylderrant]

[ Iramaat actually laughs aloud as she watches the fae go clambering up into the vines. She's not all that bothered by it (or her humming). It's amusing to watch, honestly, and to just let things be for the evening. She pushes to her feet and trails along behind her - or rather, circles below, still strumming along to try and give the fae a decent accompaniment for her strange little "dance" up in the vines.

No words for this song, but she also joins in the humming to try and provide a counter-point. ]

You look like you're enjoying yourself.

[stopfen]

[The fae chirped and chittered as she moved a lot more animated now she was up in the trees. Balancing and twirling as she flitted from branch to branch. It might have not quite been a dance to some as she kept moving.

It was nice, being up in the air. Wing running through her hair, even if wings were different to using her gear. Something freeing about being up and off the ground. To the point she almost forgets, drifting off and away. Her head in the clouds.

The words only just register as the fae landed on a branch, bouncing and going around the trunk to double back to the faun. Wings sprinkling that fae dust everywhere. Her breath catching as she tried to explain...but was there really any explaining it.]

Yeah. It's... Nice... Being near the sky. [A tiny shrug as she peered, trying to convey what she meant when she didn't understand herself. Something about the sky, the moon and the stars. Something that felt important.]

[wylderrant]

[ It's the moon, of course, and Iramaat is only able to be as clear-headed as she is thanks to her bond. So she understands and is willing to indulge her. She watches and listens, her hands finally stilling and letting the music go silent as she regards her with a sense of interest. She really does have her head in the metaphorical clouds, doesn't she? ]

I can't say I know the feeling, alas. I am rather grounded.

[ She grins and shrugs. ]

No wings. But the moon... the stars... those I do appreciate from my lowly position.

[stopfen]

[The fae stills, so much she might have passed for a statue if it weren't for her hair and antenna catching on the fae. Yes. That, for some reason it seemed like the right answer. Not that Mikasa could explain why. Even if the fae herself would try and reach those stars if it weren't for the limits of her wings.

But it's enough to make those big black eyes crease, lips curling into a smile. It was small, nowhere near the faun's grin. But she was trying, her ears tilting down.]

I think... It might be like fauns and the dirt.

[The plant people.]

[wylderrant]

Fauns and dirt?

[ Iramaat laughs. ]

You make it sound like we're mucking about in it, but... yes. It is like that in a way. We seem to have an affinity for growing things and fertile earth... and it calls to us. It makes us want to be closer to it. So... yes, very similar. Even if I wish you'd chosen more flattering words.

[ She pats the spot next to her. ]

Do you want to join me for a little while longer? I think we have some wine still... somewhere.

[stopfen]

There's nothing wrong with that... Dirt is good. I can only grow stuff the normal way. [It's enough to get a frown. Or was it a pout at the point? The fae was in too much of a daze to stop herself from puffing her cheeks up a little.

But really, it was kind of annoying trying to sell things she'd grown only to be told Faun and Witches could do it better. Her farmer cred...

She almost sighed from it, before turning her attention to the faun again. Frowning at the spot on the ground that was being patted, then the faun. Antenna giving a flick. Thinking 'bout it.

Then there's a buzz as she flutters over and sitting again. Pulling her legs up to hug them, rest her chin on her knees. Silently agreeing to hang out more.]