Devil's Dance Floor (For Dema)

[kismet]

She’d only been home a few weeks and already things were getting dull. No bacon flavored chewing gum! No movies! No bubbly sugar drinks with their 235 combinations! And nothing to steal—that didn’t result in getting your arm chopped off as the best ending. So when the festival of Imbolc had rolled around Kismet had been all enthusiasm! Twisting the dark blood red mane of hers into an intricate up do and slipping on a long pure white gown that wrapped about her neck but plunged backless down to the start of her lower curves the woman had one simple goal in mind: have a grand time!

Which was why annoyance was so very plain on her face as she stared at some pompous strange male babbling about moss. MOSS! She hadn’t tinted her lips red and stolen a proper gown just to listen to him rattle on about fauna! She NEVER cared about moss! Much less when there was dancing and drinking and eating to be done! Irritation brewing the green eyed nimbus decided she’d had just about enough! This was the Festival of Imbolc! Not the Festival of Boring Stuffy Males! Grinning suddenly the green eyes woman interrupted her unwelcome companion.

“Sorry to interrupt darling but all this dirty talk is driving me positively wild, if I don’t go I’m afraid I’ll have to take you right where you stand!” the look of shock, hope, and something very pathetic and male almost made lose control right there but Kismet winked playfully and purred “Kiss Kiss!” before turning and walking away. She made it about four steps before a peel of laughter escaped her. There was no need to look back; she’d seen the look of realization, shame, and outrage enough times to be able to piece together the poor boys expression.

Draining the rest of her glass Ksimet looked about eagerly, no mystery as she practically screamed ‘what’s next?!’ A dance?! A drink?! A good bit of nasty nasty gossip? Grinning with delight the nimbus settled on a course of action and spun about-maybe a little too fast-and bumped into someone. Turning to properly eye the person she’d almost stepped on her grin was big, bright, and absolutely unrepentant. “Why hello! Merry Imbolc! Or is it Happy?” she tilted her head in consideration before shrugging, ready to continue on whatever course her havoc would take that night.

[Morgon]

To say that parties weren’t really Morgon’s thing would be the understatement of the year. It wasn’t that the idea of a party, itself, perturbed him – what fault could one find with boozing and dancing, after all – but the sheer volume of people and the astonishing amount of drama that took place could really take a toll on the faerie’s delicate sensibilities. Annette, however, had “requested” that he attend, and he wasn’t about to let her down; she did not seem like the kind of woman one would be wise to disappoint.

So, here he was: all decked out in a white dress shirt and slacks that a pixie had surreptitiously placed at the foot of his bed that morning, mustering himself for what would be an interesting series of case studies, if nothing else. Despite the fineness of his attire, his general look was one of controlled disarray – shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned, hair a charming mess, half-consumed miscellaneous beverage in one hand, the other shoved casually in his pocket. He leaned against a high-legged banquet table and gazed bemusedly at the faces in the crowd. Their expressions ranged from wanton intoxication to agoraphobic terror. He sighed.

“Why hello! Merry Imbolc! Or is it Happy?” Morgon did not see the speaker, at first, caught up as he was in preventing his drink from spilling. He steadied it, released the breath he’d been holding, placed the glass gently on the table behind him. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he answered, turning to examine her and immediately flashing his slightly off-kilter smile. His glance passed appreciatively over her gown, coming to rest with a mischievous glint on her startling green eyes, very much like his own. Distant relative? Let’s hope not.

“Uh oh, you’re empty,” he chuckled, taking the drained glass from her and placing it safely on the surface beside them. He didn’t know if it was the drink or general enthusiasm that had caused the collision, but it seemed safer to take sharp edges out of the equation. “And between amusements. I guess that means you’ll have to dance with me.” He grinned wickedly at her, extending his hand, and stepped toward the dancefloor.

[kismet]

Not exactly one to tip toe over matters the woman’s vivid green eyes scanned the stranger in a blatant assessment. Appearance was important after all! Whoever had said it was wrong to judge a book by its cover had probably been as musty and faded as the tomes her father used to keep in his library! While not exactly unappealing the stranger looked decidedly human…handsome human true but nothing to hold a candle to the likes of the glitter glowing sidhe. Of course considering her own pale skin failed to glow with power Kismet wasn’t exactly one to throw stones in that department.

And his eyes were fine enough that she could forgive the rumpled appearance.

“Then jolly non-denominational winter holiday it is!” the faerie decided with an amused nod. She adored the saying! In the human world if said to the right people it had the power to start all the right sorts of fussing and grumbling. And nothing shouted happy holiday tradition for Kismet better than instigating two silly humans into having a shouting match in the middle of a crowded mall. Bonus points if it turned into a cat fight over some trinket on sale. Come to think of it that was the problem with Imbolc…it lacked a good sense of entitlement and materialism! Wasn’t that what the holidays were all about? And food!

Speaking of food Kismet’s smile dimmed a little as the stranger made reference to her lack of alcohol. When he took her glass she expected him to refill it-not just take it! Her lips twitched into a bit of a sulk at that. Though his sudden declaration shifted her red lips back into a bright grin. Rather bold wasn’t he? “Do I now?”

Gaze flicking from the strangers face down to his offered hand Kismet was once again weighing and measuring. Though the subject was less how tasty a morsel he might make and more if this new avenue of amusement would be worth her time. She did so hate to be bored and the less pretty male she’d bumped into had proved very boring.

But really her mind had been made up. Flashing a white toothy smile the red haired woman accepted the offered hand. “Very well, but I’ll need a name from my partner and a vow that we won’t be discussing moss” she added suddenly very serious. There was only so many times a night a woman could be disappointed before she lit someone on fire!

[Morgon]

Morgon watched the girl’s face as she weighed and measured him, and again as she pouted. If she had voiced her thoughts on entitlement and materialism, he might have laughed at her – there was plenty here, if one were to only look. The Sidhe gleamed with more than the glow of purity; jewels and precious metal glinted as far as the eye could see. Not to mention the amount of labor that had gone into preparing this little soiree for the courts, all at the hands of an enslaved race of people…but these were impolite topics of discussion. Morgon was not a fool. If he was to impress his Queen, insinuate himself with the people of this world and, for that matter, enjoy himself, he had to air out all the tricks and manipulations he’d folded and stored for the winter.

They were in great number. “Morgon,” he answered her, pulling her toward him smoothly. “And I detest moss.” As much as the Nimbus lacked a Sidhe’s beauty, many would have said he made up for it in allure. He had, as Annette had experienced, a way of looking at a woman that made her feel seen, like an artist beholding his favorite subject. He also tended to divulge very little of himself that was of any substance, preferring to mirror the other person’s tastes and manifest their desires as if by magic. It wasn’t magic – it was a little thing called “paying attention” that many, even amongst the fae, had forgotten.

But none of these traits could overshadow, in this moment, Morgon’s skill as a dance partner. If there was one thing he knew about women (from observation, of course) it was that they loved nothing more than to be the center of focus, to feel effortlessly lovely, and few things could accomplish this more than tactful dancing. Morgon’s leadership was that balance of firm and gentle that comes only from experience and training. As he moved the red-haired Nimbus around the dance floor, twirling her fluently at opportune flourishes in the music (but not so often that she might become dizzy), he existed solely to keep rhythm and showcase the beauty of his partner’s motions. His eyes rarely drifted from her, and only for two reasons: to be sure that they were not about to careen into another pair of dancers, and to catch a glimpse of the Red Queen. She was less red than white today, he realized as he spotted her at the end of the table. As expected, he barely recognized her, and this was not solely the fault of glamour magic.

The music slowed – Morgon drew the lady in, transitioning to a simple waltz. She seemed quite delicate, in comparison to his broadness and height, but he knew that very few women wouldn’t appear so. This was no blushing tulip. He could tell that she would share everything willingly, as long as he kept her entertained.

“You deprive me of your name,” he murmured sadly, his smirk reappearing in contradiction to his tone. “Is moss the only subject banned from discussion, or is it that talking doesn’t suit you?”

[kismet]

“Excellent” Kismet purred in reply, pleased by both the name and the stance on that bothersome plant. Morgon proved his graces further by making an excellent dance partner of himself. Some males were weak leads and others too demanding but the green eyed male proved just right and it was easy to follow the fellows lead. Graceful and elegant! Her smile was genuine delight as they twirled about. Oh Kismet wasn’t a woman who imagined she needed much validation about who fantastic she was: very! But dancing was delightfully fun and close. A creature fond of contact and crowds dancing was one of the best parts of any event!

Maybe it was the thrill of the dancing for it when done it could put any male in a favorable light…but as they moved to the beat and he twirled her about Kismet decided that this Morgon wasn’t as human as he looked. Even if the art of listening was not a hand of power it might as well have been, for all the grasp the self centered little nimbus had on such things. The world and all the people in it were almost always viewed in relation to herself and it took a great effort to see beyond that narrow window. Not that Kismet ever bothered much, nothing good ever came from it.

Unfortunately the twirling delightful dance came to an end, replaced by a waltz. Closing her eyes a minute the woman released a little breath and smiled as her mind drifted to all the silly and strange dances the humans had come up with… she’d only been alive a few hundred years. A handful compared to many in Alanor. Yet she’d seen so much change! Her Nan had once said her patients were entirely too human…and Kismet had to agree. Sometimes there was something to be admired about the rushing energetic fast paced frenzied way humankind lived.

Mostly it was just fun though.

Morgons words pulled her from the idle thoughts and she grinned at him. “That is a very savvy way to ask a ladies name, but a bit roundabout don’t you think?” she teased, enjoying that woeful tone but not swayed in the least by it. Especially not when he was smirking so! Unfortunately being who and what she was Kismet never played mysterious terrible well when she was trying so instead the red headed woman shrugged and gave up the tidbit. He’d done well enough to earn that much.

“My names Kismet and you should be flattered, Morgon wasn’t it? If a lady needs to talk to be entertained while dancing someone isn’t doing something right” Not that it couldn’t be a part of the entertainment…but a good dancer could keep you satisfied with nothing but silence, a smile, and good moves. Morgon had shown himself as that easily enough.

[Morgon]

There wasn’t much about the human world that Morgon particularly missed, so far. Likely as it was that he had human blood, somewhere in there, he didn’t feel like he had very much in common with the creatures, at least fundamentally. He had learned their dances and their languages, read their history and science and philosophy (unlike Kismet, he was a reader), fired their guns (recreationally), and yet had felt very little surprise when he discovered what he really was. He just didn’t have the same motivations that they did. He feared very little, worried very little, and needed almost nothing, while it seemed humans did all of these things in excess. To him, life was simply an extended experiment. It seemed Kismet, truly, had more in common with humankind than he did.

He laughed at the girl’s “compliment,” his hand resting firmly on the small of her back, holding her close. He turned her into Cape position, standing behind her for part of the promenade. “I’m glad to hear my dancing does not offend you, Kismet,” he said softly, beside her ear, twirled her back to face him, and rotated in place. One thing about these faerie girls: they were a sight to behold, pure-blooded or no. While Kismet did not possess the dazzling beauty of the Sidhe Queen, she did have a kind of vibrancy that human women simply could not maintain. It was as if she were a more concentrated form of life, more potent. Morgon supposed he probably had that, too, though his personality was much more restrained. His intensity was in observation and aura, if you would – a feeling, rather than an appearance.

“Have you lived in Alanor your whole life?” he asked, sensing that she had not, though he also got the impression that she knew the ways of this place much better than he did. Kismet carried herself with the same kind of entitlement all the higher faerie had; demanding and proud. There was a kind of dignity to it, as well, but Morgon wasn’t sure why, yet. Perhaps it was just age, or the expectation of power.

He didn’t know what to expect. Perhaps his blood was too dilute to ever blossom into something greater. Who knew what could change him, if anything.

[kismet]

He was so elegant and refined the picture of a good courtly male as he guided them in the dance. Another woman might have been satisfied or won over by the good showing. It made Kismet want to ruffle his composure, strip away the lovely veneer and see something more. A less lovely side perhaps with a touch of jagged edges as opposed to smooth curves? Unfortunately something told the Nimbus that would require both a good bit of effort and the sacrifice of their dance, something she wasn’t ready to abandon just yet. A partner of such quality could not always be found and were often enough in high demand.

“Not half as glad as I am” she replied cheekily to the smooth words. Maybe it would have been wise to be wary of the other nimbus. Just because he didn’t glow with the power of a full blooded sidhe or carry any obvious title or association to power didn’t mean he couldn’t be a danger. But Kismet couldn’t bring herself to be terribly worried. She’d been spoiled by years in the human world where you didn’t have to worry about schemes and plots that spanned centuries or magical forces that crushed you simply because they could. Well…there were a few of those wandering the mortal realm but they were in much higher concentration in the home of the fae.

Since her first moments of freedom from court schemes, the first taste of being powerful (and really who WASN’T powerful when compared to silly humans?) the nimbus had spent more time among the short lives creatures than her own kind. “Whole life?” she shook her head, relieved that such a grim fate had never been hers. “No, though I was born and raised here. I’ve spent so many decades around humans… I’m down right contaminated” she dropped her voice into a mock hush as if it were some sinister secret. Contaminated…ha! There might be some who thought nothing could come from association with lesser beings but…

Well as she was sometimes considered one of those lesser beings Kismet had never shown much respect for the philosophy. “What about you?” It was only civil to ask but really it was hard to picture this graceful Morgon in some mundane human city.

[Morgon]

Elegant and refined he may have been in word and gesture, but Morgon wasn’t quite the picture Kismet thought. His fashion choices were perhaps the best evidence of that, or at least the most immediate – the shirt he had managed to wrinkle already, the hair that defied both gravity and explanation, the shadow of dirty blonde stubble appearing along his jaw, all these things pointed to the paradox of his appearance versus his demeanor. Or rather, his apparent demeanor. Amidst all the mirroring and adapting, it was difficult to say what Morgon’s true personality really was. Could Kismet ruffle him? Probably not – he was that sort of unflappable gent who cannot be forced to feel anything, particularly anger. But did he have jagged edges, hidden beneath the impression of gentleness and reserve?

Yes. Yes he did.

“I’d be willing to bet I’m more contaminated,” he chuckled, not bothering to lower his own voice as it did not generally carry, by nature. “I’m so saturated in humanness, it was only recently that I realized I was different. Born and raised on the planet Earth.” It paid to distribute a detail here and there, especially ones that seemed valuable but were actually of little consequence. Perhaps she would be surprised, and he could embellish an explanation for her – paint a picture of daring and adventure and mischief-making. There had been a fair amount of those things, but probably not the variety Kismet preferred. His past was not so much a pursuit of entertainment and delight as a series of carefully planned demolitions.

“And I know nothing about your court but what I’ve heard in gossip. Do you like it there?” Her response would be telling, and if he was lucky it would contain some tidbit he could share with the queen – a bit of caviar to present to her upon their next meeting. His eyes narrowed at the thought. Why was he thinking about her so much, anyway? Besides being so far out of his league, she wasn’t really even his type. Not that he really had a type. Other than gorgeous.

Okay, so maybe she was his type.

The music picked up again – not as frenetic as their first dance, but enough that he could fit in a few more energetic turns and, hopefully, keep his partner amused long enough to hear her response. Maybe a few more drinks were in order, as long as they were mutually interrogating each other. His eyes drifted around the room, locating the nearest alcohol vendors for the post-dance interaction.

[Skylla]

With the coming of night comes the pounding of drums who direct a procession of faerie dressed in flowing white robes and cowls. Horns sound a triumphant call as each member of the procession surrounds a large pyre. One by one each fae takes their torch to the pyre until the tower of lumber is a blazing inferno.

The Imbolc bonfire symbolizes the melting away of winter and the warmth associated with the spring. The light of life can be seen for the first time since the past summer in burning pyre embers. The whole festival is bathed in warmth and a powerful brightness.