Fannish Advent #14: Won't You Take Advantage?
Title: Won't You Take Advantage?
Rating: G.
Fandom: Babylon Wood.
Synopsis: How is the winter season celebrated in the Babylon Wood?
***
Winter slips between the trees like the tide coming in, advancing an inch at a time, until the leaves are blazing in carnival colors, red and gold and orange as flame, and the ground is rimed with frost, and all the summer girls don their feathered cloaks and fly away, fly away, fly away home. The Spinner tucks her looms away, hides her unfinished tapestries inside the skeleton shadows of the trees, and drops down into the dark to dream her spider's dreams. The Golden Bear roars his final clarion call of summer and lumbers to his den, steps heavy with the memories of the seasons now behind him.
The Mother of Crows walks her way along the Scarecrow Trail, and her fingers brush the painted eyes of the season's guardians. She whispers to them of the sleep to come, the silence of the snow, the secrets of the frost; she whispers to them of the Winter Queen, with her lips as red as blood and her skin as white as all the winter. She tells them that the Winter Queen is beautiful, and they believe her. She tells them that the Winter Queen is merciful, and they believe her not at all.
In the Starlight Carnival, summer tents are struck and stowed, and winter tents are stolidly erected, each of them supported by a dozen sturdy posts, their walls dripping tatterdemalion gay with pennants and with favors. The booths and carnie-wagons of the autumn people are arriving day by day, put in place in the seconds where no one watches. They serve the sweetest fruit pies anyone has ever tasted; their pomegranate tarts are very near to die for.
In the Shadowplay Saloon, where the days are skeleton-stories of heroes long forgotten and quests left to decay, the Kitsune Barmaid (she had a name once, she had a name and a story all her own, but she has traded them away, given them to a man for a pocket filled with silver scales, and the promise of a lover's welfare; a lover whose name has been as forgotten as hers) stands by the window, hands tying widow's knots in the fabric of her dishrag. Something is changing. She knows it as surely as she knows the faded heroes, knows their stories have been sold forever to buy a belly full of whiskey and a moment of release.
The Rose Owl comes to sing tonight. She knows that as surely as she knows that this is Earthquake Weather, as she knows that something's coming close to the chance to make a choice, and change.
Footsteps on the sawdust-boards behind her. Footsteps, and a whisper as soft as crow's wings beating in the autumn night:
"You deserve the chance you offer them."
And oh, she wonders who the scales were from, and oh, she wonders what her name is, and oh, she turns, she turns, she turns and offers her hands to the Mother of the Crows, and oh, she wonders where the Scarecrow Trail will lead her.
In the heart of the Wood, the snow begins to fall.
***
Today's fandom was suggested by elisem, after being suggested by many others over many days. To suggest a fandom and/or situation for tomorrow, please comment on this post! Remember, just because it wasn't chosen today, that doesn't mean it won't be chosen tomorrow.
Rating: G.
Fandom: Babylon Wood.
Synopsis: How is the winter season celebrated in the Babylon Wood?
***
Winter slips between the trees like the tide coming in, advancing an inch at a time, until the leaves are blazing in carnival colors, red and gold and orange as flame, and the ground is rimed with frost, and all the summer girls don their feathered cloaks and fly away, fly away, fly away home. The Spinner tucks her looms away, hides her unfinished tapestries inside the skeleton shadows of the trees, and drops down into the dark to dream her spider's dreams. The Golden Bear roars his final clarion call of summer and lumbers to his den, steps heavy with the memories of the seasons now behind him.
The Mother of Crows walks her way along the Scarecrow Trail, and her fingers brush the painted eyes of the season's guardians. She whispers to them of the sleep to come, the silence of the snow, the secrets of the frost; she whispers to them of the Winter Queen, with her lips as red as blood and her skin as white as all the winter. She tells them that the Winter Queen is beautiful, and they believe her. She tells them that the Winter Queen is merciful, and they believe her not at all.
In the Starlight Carnival, summer tents are struck and stowed, and winter tents are stolidly erected, each of them supported by a dozen sturdy posts, their walls dripping tatterdemalion gay with pennants and with favors. The booths and carnie-wagons of the autumn people are arriving day by day, put in place in the seconds where no one watches. They serve the sweetest fruit pies anyone has ever tasted; their pomegranate tarts are very near to die for.
In the Shadowplay Saloon, where the days are skeleton-stories of heroes long forgotten and quests left to decay, the Kitsune Barmaid (she had a name once, she had a name and a story all her own, but she has traded them away, given them to a man for a pocket filled with silver scales, and the promise of a lover's welfare; a lover whose name has been as forgotten as hers) stands by the window, hands tying widow's knots in the fabric of her dishrag. Something is changing. She knows it as surely as she knows the faded heroes, knows their stories have been sold forever to buy a belly full of whiskey and a moment of release.
The Rose Owl comes to sing tonight. She knows that as surely as she knows that this is Earthquake Weather, as she knows that something's coming close to the chance to make a choice, and change.
Footsteps on the sawdust-boards behind her. Footsteps, and a whisper as soft as crow's wings beating in the autumn night:
"You deserve the chance you offer them."
And oh, she wonders who the scales were from, and oh, she wonders what her name is, and oh, she turns, she turns, she turns and offers her hands to the Mother of the Crows, and oh, she wonders where the Scarecrow Trail will lead her.
In the heart of the Wood, the snow begins to fall.
***
Today's fandom was suggested by elisem, after being suggested by many others over many days. To suggest a fandom and/or situation for tomorrow, please comment on this post! Remember, just because it wasn't chosen today, that doesn't mean it won't be chosen tomorrow.