Crackplot!

[homo_lettuce]

Inspired by Set's being completely flat-out rejected by Ashley Raventon, Set's decided that the sexual tendencies of the community need to be shuffled around. So throughout the mansion there is a hot, dry, desert wind, blowing into each little nook and cranny to find out victims

Comments

[smithofwainola]

*ever since that disaster with the forged items and Feanor, Ilmarinen has been keeping a low profile in the woods outside the mansion--even built himself a lodge and a rudimentary forge, the better to serve his own needs. however, even isolation can't protect a man from the wind--and therefore, Ilmarinen feels himself compelled to return to the mansion. he is inexplicably randy ... and, more inexplicably, he seems to have developed a desire for men*

[lightningcurse]

...Well, it's not fair to leave a fellow shinyperson alone with his new orientations. Mabon meets him going out--for all the wind in there, it can't pretend to be outside, and he can't be truly easy ever until he's outside.

Recognising power when he comes across it, he bows slightly to Ilmarinen.

[smithofwainola]

*a slight bow in return--has been away from other people so long that he doesn't introduce himself; somehow, though, it feels unnecessary to give Mabon something so trivial as a name*

[lightningcurse]

Perhaps it is. Mabon smiles at him, his small and secret smile.

[smithofwainola]

*a slow smile, in return* Do you go to hunt the forests?

[lightningcurse]

"Yes." For a moment he seems to ripple and flash like leaves blown in the sun; a better indication of his joy than a smile ever would be. He doesn't trust Ilmarinen, has trusted almost no one since Annwn, but he knows that he can't hide himself from someone with power, and he doesn't try. "Why do you go to the House?"

[smithofwainola]

*suddenly can't remember why he was going to the house--the house is grey and dark and confining; he needs to be under the sky he hung, feeling the wind touching the leaves* For the company of humans--here I was alone, and lonesome. *he has dropped, unconsciously, back to his native tongue; Mabon may or may not notice (or, for that matter, care)*

[lightningcurse]

Mabon would undertand that perhaps almost perfectly. "There are Men outside, too." There's me, is unspoken.

[smithofwainola]

*perfectly understanding--there is a wolf's look in his eyes, and it makes Ilmarinen both afraid and hungry* Beasts, as well--I know not whether you are beast, or man, or godly.

[lightningcurse]

A smile. "I am not Man." That is, perhaps, the only certainty. He moves with lean and animal grace, and with hunting in his body.

[smithofwainola]

*pleased with that grace--wheels in his mind clicking together, trying to design a mechanism that would duplicate that smooth fluidity of movement* You are more than Man in beauty. *not sure why he says it--but entirely sure that he means it*

[lightningcurse]

Then he laughs; it seems like fir trees blowing, like rain in mountain streams, like deer seeking shelter under outcropping rocks and smaller things going into the ground. The smell of wet cold earth surrounds them.

[smithofwainola]

*oh, loves those scents--wet, cold air and fir trees, the laughing streams--for they remind him of a cold, lakeland home, and he misses his mountains and forests and fens with a palpable ache--hand brushing Mabon's wrist, because this man has returned home to him, and he would touch if he were permitted--*

[lightningcurse]

Of course it's permitted, for Ilmarinen it's permitted; Mabon moves a little closer to him. "We have the same home?" he asks quietly, tilting his head to the side.

[smithofwainola]

*a slow nod, offering his hand to be clasped*

[lightningcurse]

He takes it, quietly feeling the Difference in Ilmarinen, and the hunting look in his eyes both softens and intensifies; there's respect and there's want, there's the knowledge that they are something of the same, and the desire for that sameness to be joined.