Wild Were The Winds That Came

Nov 10th, 2018 03:09 AM

Smoke. Ash. Burning metal, dry trees, and concrete. Lydia had smelled it on the wind, tasted its faint chalkiness on her tongue, saw a dim glow from a tree she climbed before hitch-hiking to the city. The Camp Fire, they called it, and it was one of the most deadly fires to wrack the region in its known history. There was enough fear to make an Autumnal giddy, and enough sorrow to satiate the hungriest Onyx Courtier. Dark eyes lined with even darker eyeliner - a poor excuse for kohl - watched the flame of a burn barrel dance in a faint wind. Not her doing, this time, but sweeping in from the Pacific. Its brethren breezes had fed the Camp Fire hours before.

She stood and listened as the other vagrants discussed the tragedy. Lydia's hands hovered the barrel in a token gesture, the heat barely depriving her hands of their chill. Her expression was vague and blank, but it did flicker with interest, news and gossip twirling from nervous, nearby lips. Her head cocked to listen, a habit picked up from the mostly-Beast Motley she'd spent a decade with. The blaze nearby would've had them all twitching, ready to hop into a Hedge Gate at the smallest spark.

It was a nervousness she didn't miss. Flame and wind were as close to being kin as spring and rain were. Air was born of rising heat, and fire was born of precious air. Were this the realm of Faerie, she would've shepherded these destructive breezes. The vast Sierras were not so different from the rising backbones of her Keeper's rocks and ice, the clouds from one place swirling up to cover his spine. In fact, perhaps thinking too boldly, Lydia wondered if she could go to Butte County to help. If the winds were blowing so viciously, and the Camp grew bigger in its hungry greed for them, then perhaps help could come in the form of starvation. Then again, the Courtier was of the lowest caliber, so insignificant and underpowered that she'd only be food for its cinders.

A handful of Contracts did not make for a witch of myth. The embers of those thoughts died a moment later, and Lydia went back to listening. Watching. Waiting for something interesting, at least. The dark and dim places of the cities could be interesting, and sometimes, just as feral as her beloved wild.

**Rhodes** · Nov 10th, 2018 05:30 PM

The Flowering Fairest slips through the Night Streets of Sacramento. They had become more and more familiar these last 4 months. The fears of night held nothing for him, the Dread Lord of Autumn. Striding through the shadows in a long coat of woven thunderclouds, icy winds twisting around him.

He emerged from a block out beneath and overpass, where he could see a small group of homeless folks gathering around a dustbin fire... and one swirling elemental form, grey smoke and twisting wind. Slowly, Rhodes moves around the fire, giving those warming themselves a wide berth, until he is on the side the elemental's eyeline can see. He moves slowly beneath a streetlight, the crown of dull metallic leaves and thorns on his head, the bright red flowers blossoming at his temples and wrists, and watches the unknown elemental with vivid green eyes.

When he catches the Elemental's eye, he performs a nod a and a twist at the wrist, a cold smile upon his lips, waiting for her to approach.

Nov 10th, 2018 08:05 PM

Her cup ran over with a potential harvest, but Lydia's wasn't hungry. Instead, she was tired, a bone-deep weariness in what remained of her body's solidity. Her cold hands withdrew so she might rub he face, the smell of smoke and burned garbage stuck to her hands. She took a minute to inhale the scent, fire's child of air filling her lungs. There were comforting things to her: the powdery, the particle-filled, the elemental. She felt herself grounded, the formless swirl that was her thoughts temporarily brought to rest. The Elemental sighed pleasantly -

Her look became sharp. A glance over the shoulder became a slight stare, something the other homeless almost followed. Lydia moved away as to not be obvious, her movements quiet with practice. A deft hand went into her pockets, grabbing a handful of nickles and tossing them aside. The mortals, with their dog-eared alertness, immediately went to go see the sound's source. Imagine their delight at some much-needed pocket change, perhaps enough for a coffee or rounding off the day's panhandling.

Lydia would address later that she needed that for a burger. There were other ways to sustain oneself, out there in the wilds of Sacramento. She could find these untamed places easily. Eyes going side-to-side a final time, she stopped before the dull-crowned man, looking him in the eye. Hers were but flickering points in her face, vague spheres of yellow set into pale smoke, a dot of white for a pupil at their heart.

She went to brush herself off, but it turned into a subtle curtsy. Her head dipped like some submissive Hob-Beast's would - another habit her former Motley had given her. "Hail an' well met. I know nae your name, but I see you're an important man. Thissae apologizes if she has intruded upon This Important Ae's home an' hearth."

The strange turn of phrase was but a wintry whisper. She always talked like this, and no one could explain why, not even Lydia. Was that something vaguely Scottish, too, that peppered her words? People had told Lydia it was. Lydia couldn't remember if it came before or after her escape. Now she just had to hope that this one - this strange, beautiful one, who she couldn't figure out to be Sap-Blooded or otherwise - would stop looking so cold. She'd the strangest feeling she'd done wrong.

Perhaps he always looked like that. She needed to remember people could look different. Then again, the Elemental had a distant understanding of human display, partially from her own choice of isolation.

**Rhodes** · Nov 11th, 2018 01:39 PM

Many people can be soothed by stroking their ego, and the Fairest succomb to it more easily than most. Rhodes is stood relaxed and easy, but his expression softens slightly. He smiles.

"Hail!" He responds, a little ironically. "Home, yes, though Hearth, not quite. You may call me Rhodes - I am the Dread Lord of the Autumn Court here in Sacramento. It is quite fortunate I came across you. I'm sure you know it can be quite... dangerous, for us to be all alone." That smile doesn't quite go away, but he turns with one arm outstretched. "Please, walk with me a while. We can talk a little. And when I am sure you are not some manner of Loyalist sympathizer... perhaps we can thing about introducing you to some others, hmm?" The Fairest's expression turns charming. "So! Let's start small, shall we? What might I call you?" He smiles broadly.

Nov 11th, 2018 06:07 PM

The Dread Lord of Autumn. A ruler over fear, enthroned among thorns that turned scarlet and orange on Winter's cusp. He seemed more at ease - at least, that was the Airtouched's hope - and extended an arm for her to follow. Wordlessly, Lydia breezed along beside him, the smoke-hair of her mien trailing with the movement. Her footsteps were still quiet, and her voice didn't rise as he spoke. A slight frown came in its place as he spoke of Loyalist sympathizers.

All of her kind were paranoid. This she had to remember, and also had to remember that many Lost didn't act alone. He had no reason to believe she had ill intent. Lydia was more than happy to correct this.

"My good King," she began, "thissae swears on the Fates that thissae bear nae allegiance t'Them. Thissae's goes by Lydia, since They took the other in a bad dream."

She hesitated. The end of her semi-solid hair drooped a little as she thought. "Thissae thinks. Thissae don't remember. But Lydia, now, at least." The windy plume perked up again, and so did the pointed, black-tipped ears the Airtouched bore. "An' thissae don't fear bein' alone. The Dread King's kindness is still appreciated an' welcomed. Fates peek kindly on you an' your kin, Autumn Ruler."

**Circe** · Nov 11th, 2018 08:55 PM

Circe lacked sympathy for the people fleeing the flames and ash. In her opinion everybody had problems. The blue elf was more interested in those pissed at the situation then those crying. Glamour of her Court tasted so sweet. And if her trench coat and suit beneath made them think she was government to be yelled at? Well, being a bitch with a horrid laugh as she corrected them just more Glamour.

Speaking of fire, Circe had spotted something interesting in an alley near a burning trash can. A smokey woman being approached by Rhodes. "Oh?" Circe's right ear twitched as she heard Rhodes being bad cop. The smile on her face showed a lot of teeth as she walked up behind him, unbuttoning her suit coat as she drew closer. Just in case it was a Loyalist.

"Ciao capo," a chipper Italian accent cheerfully greets Rhodes from his left, "Making friends are ya?" the elven Fairest leans to her left at the waist as crimson eyes move towards Lydia. Dry heat blasts out as Circe's Mantle it turned loose. Then her eyes dart back to Rhodes, "Aaaand maybe given a crash course on club speak? We try not ta use those words in public girl friend," she is all smiles as she direct the second part to Lydia.

**Rhodes** · Nov 12th, 2018 06:45 AM

The Dread Lord smiles broadly. "Lydia. Welcome to our little city. I don't doubt you have little Fear of wandering alone," he emphasises the word carefully, "but if you are going to be here, for a brief stay or longer, knowing where one might find a few friends it always useful, is it not? Particularly irend sthat think the same way you might."

Rhodes looks up at the suited pixie, smiling. "Ah, Circe! All dressed up, I see. I like it," he says cheerily, enjoing the small hiss of mists as the Summer Queen's mantle clashes with his own icy breeze. "And you know me. Always keen to meet new people." He looks at her with a touch of exasperation. "There was no-one around..." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Sometimes direct talking is needed, you can appreciate that, surely?" The Flowering sighs lightly. "Though, I suppose, you may have a point. Lydia, this is Circe. My counterpart that manages our more... hotheaded friends. Circe, Lydia. Someone I'm still deciding what to do with." He examines his nails nonchalantly, though a smirk tugs at his lips.

Nov 12th, 2018 07:35 AM

"Always," she said, nodding at the Autumn King. "Thissae welcomes friends."

More would've been said were it not for the Summer Queen's arrival. Her words were lost on Lydia, so unexpected that registering shock drowned them out. The dry desert heat hit Lydia first, startling the Airtouched and making her hair blow out. The Elemental's alarmed look focused solely on Circe, a brief moment of stay-or-run flashing across her features. Then she registered the catlike eyes, the white hair, and the long ears. Another of the People. Another Lost.

Relax. Lydia breathed out, her composure returning to her. She'd been so focused on the Dread Lord that her usual alertness deserted her. Again her head bowed, the submissive gesture followed by a lowering of the eyes. "Fiery Ae," Lydia said meekly, clasping her hands in front of her. "Thissae apologizes f'not bein' wise o' word."

There was a bit of lift as the King and Queen's mantles collided. The winds stirred at the natural sink and rise of both, pleasantly stirring around Lydia's body and feet. She couldn't help but smile a little, savoring how it felt in her strange hair, thinking of the Sierras and the storms lifting over them. For a brief moment, this little thing helped to ease her tension, and she felt a flicker of clarity in her growing cloud of doubt.

Then the King's last words hit her like the Queen's blast had: Someone I'm still deciding what to do with. Lydia said nothing, her eyes still glued to the pavement. She hadn't even known there was a Freehold in Sacramento - her Motley, like most Winter Courtiers, had valued secrecy. They lived away from other Lost, together in being apart. It had helped them distance themselves from Faerie and, like with Lydia, how most had been taken in their natural element. To many changelings, there was nothing more terrifying than loneliness, and the wild could be the loneliest place of all. Living in such severe solitude was both a coping mechanism and Winter philosophy at an extreme.

**Alfonso Franco** · Nov 12th, 2018 04:57 PM

The Crow drifts homeward on a cold wind from a late night, unscheduled appointment with a corpse. On call means rolling out of bed at any hour to go meet a uniform at a scene, cushy detective nine to five hours not withstanding.

His unmarked car carries him through a place where the lost, little "L", congregate, homeless encampments where people who fall through the cracks try to stay warm. Despite being on fire and being "sunny California", it got down under forty last night. Thirty minutes without shelter or heat and you can start your fingers and toes on a nice case of frostbite. Overnight, you can die.

His sharp eyes pick up, what? Something. Some thing not right. Out of place. A couple of fine citizens, well dressed and beautiful, among the windblown and gathered human debris. No, not a couple, not together. Definitely standing apart from one another, talking to...make that a capital "L" after all. But not one of the Fairest. Hm...not bothered a bit by the cold, though. A fellow of sorts.

The text to the Monarch, Sasha was sent the other night. This...may be premature. But he's not going to pussyfoot around his own town, even if it isn't anymore. He'll be nice. Maybe just ask a few questions. Make sure the fellow Winter is alright as can be.

The Crow kills the lights, eases into park. Locks up and strolls over towards the second unplanned appointment of its night.

"Good evening." the man says, his mask is a man in a coat and a hat, vaguely Hispanic. Goatee and 'stache. Groomed, but not a dandy. Air of a working man. A deep and gravelly, rough voice.

His mien is of black feathers, sharp, unflinching, obsidian eyes that miss nothing, a rather different hat and coat, ragged and voluminous, and a sharp beak protrudes. Chill Winter mist and cold dampness radiates.

**Circe** · Nov 12th, 2018 11:44 PM

"Ya know me well Rhodes," she winked at him. She also decided to run with it, "And don't worry about yer ignorance, its just like me. Copacetic. Ain't sayin' its cool cause I'm one of da hot ones while bein' cool cats is yer," she uses finger guns to point at Lydia. Then she points them at Rhodes, "And his schtick."

A surprisingly chill bird man shows up. "Aaaand apparently it's a popular scthick too," Circe says as she turns to look at Alfonso. Turning around to face him she leans in to Rhodes so they're rubbing shoulders, "Why hasn't anybody told me yer style is so popular?" Something about this guy was setting off Circe's alarm bells. She wasn't sure which ones but they were ringing so she watched him with narrowed eyes. "If anymore show up at this rate I'm gonna hafta order takeout or somethin' fer this. Wasn't expectin' anybody ta fly in oh ho ho ho ho! Soooo," she song out, "Ya gotta name buddy?"

Wild Were The Winds That Came

Flowering

Flowering

Flowering

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