OPEN;

[primrosella]

When; Saturday, June 30, evening
Rating; Individual threads may vary!
Characters; Everyone is welcome! This is an open log for Polyites and 4th Wallers alike, so just specify if it's an open thread or if you have 4th walling rules in the comment or subject line!
Summary; Whether you're a regular or a first-timer, here to stay or just passing through, the Blue Light is the place to be for good music, good food, and a sea of friendly faces to encounter.
Log;

Rosella's been to the Blue Light on nights like this before, but this is the first time she's ever been here behind the bar instead of in front of it, managing things as best she can as opposed to simply enjoying the festivities. She's still not skilled enough with bartending to dare try taking drink orders (unless, of course, they come at very special request from very special people), but she's overseeing her staff, checking up on her supplies, and just generally making sure everything runs smoothly.

The music is merry and there's the chatter of conversation in the air as the booths and tables fill with people; nearby, a space on the floor has been cleared for dancing, should any guests (local or visitor alike) find themselves with the urge to cut loose.

It's looking like it's going to be a busy night. But really, that's quite all right with her.

Comments

[and_warrior_arise]

He comes nearer, as though distance can be made naught simply by listening to her, drinking her words. He wants to know everything, if only because it is Aeriel, but also because there may be a hint, a freedom, something lingering. He does not overhope, but he hopes nevertheless, information to take to the Mage of Downending, something, anything.

If he can remember these moments, stolen between dreams.

"Many men have begun to come to Avaric's wide plains," he tells her, "to plant and grow. There are no slaves, never again will there be slaves. There is little water so we make do with what we have. It is not easy, but it is easier now than before. The rain helps - it falls often, now."

Everytime it falls he thinks of her, and the day that he learned to love again.

[practicingforhell]

[He won't turn a free beer down, and it's not like the City always sends him on his way with money when he visits. Plus, a girl like Life? She can probably afford it.

Henry forces a smile.] Company's good. I can't complain.

How 'bout you?

[and_identity]

There's some extra Deaths here tonight. Not here in the bar, but here around town. I've noticed at least three so far, and there might be more.

[She knocks back a swig of her drink.]

I guess you could say it's sort of like drinking a frozen Coke out of a spigot that used to have cherry in it, and they didn't clean it out well enough when they switched. Not a big deal, not really worth getting concerned about, but you can still taste something off.

Open!

[want_to_talk_about_it]

[He could always try running, but Charlie's pretty fast.]

It's nice to meet you, Alexander.

[And now, Alexander, Charlie will give you The Most Sincere Look Ever and attempt to help you. Ready?]

Do you want to talk about it? Like, is it taverns in general, or anywhere with a bunch of people?

[practicingforhell]

Three? Fuck. Glad I'm already dead.

[Not really. And this is the best beer ever.]

Must be rough. You and your Death... you've got a thing going on?

[and_identity]

We're "it's complicated" on Facebook. Except without the Facebook part.

[She gives her bottle a spin against the table, leaving a faintly damp ring in its wake.]

The other ones are your standard spectre-face reaper type and the perky goth girl one, so it's not like it's that hard to tell them apart, though.

OPEN; come to meeee

[nephite]

It is no strange excursion to him, to leave his home and his Hill for business. He has accompanied his father down from the mountains often, has taken his truck alone just as often. There is a time for hiding amongst the trees and the mist, but this is not it. His family, dark-eyed and dark-haired and dark-hearted, is in sprawl, gathering strength atop their mound of bones and blood. They need to be fed, not just on flesh, there is plenty enough of that to be culled from the slaves that ring their crooked home in corrugated shacks, the hovels of animals. There is a need to hoard, to amass, and Lehi is a fine trader in dark things. A fine hunter.

He is a fine man, with strong shoulders and a steady gaze. A fine husband, an onyx ring around his wedding finger. Today he is a quiet visitor in a strange land, watching the room around himself with black eyes. A fine hunter, wondering what treasures could be reaped from here.

The son of a witch, fifteenth generation, Lehi Morrison has a presence of dirt and blood and barbed wire. There are invisible threads cast all around him: one a thick noose that binds him to the Hill, thirteen more hang from his heart, thin but strong, black and dripping tar. And one which bears thorns, but pulses unlike any of the others with something sweet and warm. The son of a witch: reeking of charms and spells.

open

[depaysement]

A long walk out brought her here, and she bears no concern over it. To travel was her way, and she adapted no matter who or what she found. This city is no different. Three years old(er, if you really were specific), yet ageless, and she exudes a charm of her own-or maybe it's just the red hair and dress being such a classic colour for attention. However it happens, she has a table where she can see the dance floor, and her eyes are more on the people around her than her drink.

Those that catch her eyes looking get her smile. She invites all to talk, to dance, anything else, because she came out to enjoy herself. If they are strangers now, they won't be when the night's done.

[jemerite]

"Grell?"

A soft voice from nearby, somewhat hoarse but not quite so timid as it might have been if she had not already spent her year in the garden's cradle. Another ageless thing, this one all in black.

[depaysement]

She twitches, she always does at the name, but she turns towards the voice and gives the woman a smile.

"Hello, dear."

[jemerite]

Her head tilts. Reanimates are, naturally, silent creatures who communicate between themselves with the most subtle of body languages. She notices the distaste, but doesn't understand why. She has not, however, been refused, so she comes closer.

"You're here too." A relief, really, and something telltale, taking comfort in the familiarity from the wild places, rather than the cities she'd spent so long in.

[depaysement]

"Looking for someone?"

An innocent enough question, and one Juliet feels no hesitation in asking. If he is not the type to talk, she'll find another, but if he is, she'll talk. Something in his eyes reminds her of someone she left behind, and it draws her.

And if she recalls, she met him the exact same way-a lively bar, her confidence high, him with something she cannot put words to in his look. Oh, memory.

Besides. He feels different than the usual crowd, and she loves the unusual so much, even if it kills her (twice) to examine it for herself.

[depaysement]

"Strange how that works. And all I intended was to take a simple walk out."

But there is nothing simple in her walks, not when she drifts close to shattered glass and possibility. A temporary guest, always, unless she was in the centre. One deep breath, and a slow exhale. She is calm, calmer than the Grell Zinc knows. Juliet folds her hands and looks at Zinc with curious eyes.

"Why not have a seat for now?"

[jemerite]

She sits down slowly, arranging her bony limbs in a way that she finds comfortable. It gives her the chance to look across at Grell and study her expressions more closely.

"I hear... it is more deities, playing games."

[depaysement]

An expression of half annoyance, half acceptance. "In this realm or apart? It may not have been their doing but the way between realms simply crossed wires a bit, and then poof, we're all here."

[nephite]

His eyes lift silently and his expression is unmoved. He is a man beyond stolid, an exterior of granite and marble. That is the role he has always played, a steel backbone to a twisted family. There are laws to be followed and he sees that they are, regardless of any hurt it may cause him. He has signed his name to atrocities, enacted upon his own brothers and sisters, because it was best for the family, because it would bring them power. He is a good son. He is a better husband.

"No one in particular, merely looking." He says this simply, hand curling around his drink. "It is a day with strange sights."

[practicingforhell]

Complicated's better than nothing.

[He... sets his bottle aside for now, not finding the usual satisfaction in getting as smashed as a dead guy can get during these two-day parties. Maybe it's the atmosphere. Everyone else is so fucking cheerful.]

The goth one? Never got to talk to her, but you'd probably be my favorite... whatever anyway. Concept incarnate.

[and_identity]

You're not jealous, are you? It doesn't mean I love you any less.

[She always has had a soft spot for the artist and poets, the dreamers and tortured souls.]

That's an eloquent way of putting it. Concept incarnate. I like that.

[practicingforhell]

Jealous? Fuck, no. You talk to me, that's enough.

[He loves Life in that weird, metaphysical way that gets so twisted and tangled up when it encounters reality--makes so little sense--that it just is. But Life's probably got a lot of artistic types like that in her fan club.]

Yeah?

[lone_must_stand]

"Since Winterock fell," she agrees warmly. She hasn't seen much of the rain, but that at least she's coming to comprehend. Restoration of a water cycle, whisper her veins. The first great step towards finding a balance for their world; not enough, on its own, but essential.

"I am glad to hear of it," murmurs Aeriel quietly, after a moment's thought, suppressing a shudder at the thought of the toppled slave-markets. If she lets her eyes flutter shut she can see their shifting world, as clear as if she stood in Crystalglass; she's never quite sure if it's a true vision, or only what the pearlstuff knows must be. The Ancient city has never seemed so lonely; there is always some task, some bit of knowledge to glean-- and Erin, of course, whom she loves nearly as much as the dark girl loves her. But here, by Irrylath's side, she cannot help but feel a sharp pang of longing, knowing still that she cannot keep him.

"Avaric will thrive, with a just king." She smiles, soft. "In time, no one will remember that it has not always been so."

[jemerite]

"Here," she answers, a bit confused by Grell's reasoning. "The Queen summoned us, before."

[and_warrior_arise]

"You will, won't you?" He says it with a touch of something - sadness, or longing - in his voice. Irrylath is not a gentle man except with her, and it is because he feels that he owes her gentleness after the sadness he caused. She deserves the little he can give, all of it, not a scrap for anyone else.

"You will be Immortal in Crystalglass, and you will always remember that boy you married unknown, and the man you saved, won't you?" Always remember me, do not forget me, please.

[lone_must_stand]

The thought of her own long life is chilling; a daymonth has done little to change either of them, but she knows that cannot last. In time Irrylath will fall to dust, as must every living being. If they meet again, perhaps he will be an old man; and Aeriel will be Aeriel yet, youthful and changeless as the lons, the new lady of NuRavenna.

"I would forget myself before you, husband."

[and_warrior_arise]

She may yet change Erin, like Melchior, into clockwork, but she will never change him. It will not be long by the time measured in Crystalglass, Irrylath's life, his heroism. He knows to hope but that is all he can do right now, that there is an unbinding of this magic that has trapped her.

It is his great sorrow. Bards will sing of that long after they have forgotten the words of the rime that was his undoing.

But now he presses his lips on hers, on her cheeks where there should be tears but there are none, on the space at the base of her ear. "I love you, Aeriel, until I die, until Crystalglass shatters and the world dissolves into the abyss of cold space."

[depaysement]

She frowns slightly, then takes a long breath. She can either keep playing and let herself get trapped in lies, or she can frankly admit it right now.

"If I wasn't who you thought I was, would you be angry?"

No segue, she knows, but the question needs to be asked.