(Untitled)

[killitwith_fire]

It's dark, and there's a steady drizzle outside

Comments

[mogget_cat]

Yrael, far too sensible to be out in the rain, leans in the doorway to the bar and watches the dance, grinning.

Sometimes he wishes the Axel could meet Kibeth. They'd get on like a house on fire.

[killitwith_fire]

So, utterly brilliant, right?

The rain never touches Axel, vanishing in a fine haze of steam, right at the edge of the protection of Yrael's Charter marks.

Rings and arcs of flame spin around him in a tightly defined area, and sparks flare in fantastic patterns, appearing in thin air.

[mogget_cat]

Like a private laser-light show, only much better.

Yrael watches the dance and the fire and the extertion of self, the pushing of both flame and self to be. To move in the cosmos in a dance that the universe would see made nothing. To defy it, and dance that defiance.

Yrael tends not to dance very often, but Axel is not the only one who would see the will of the universe thwarted.

[killitwith_fire]

Yrael has a far more poetic way of putting it than Axel would; all the poetry in his soul is expressed here, in this, in the harmony and drive of the dance.

The turn of the foot, the snap of the wrist, the crackle and burn as the flame steals air from the lungs, the illusion of infinity as sparks spiral up to the sky.

The sweep of his coat as it fans out past the circle of protection, and gains, for a few moments, a slick wet sheen, that all the better reflects the cascading wall of flame.

All stubbornness and defiance of the universe itself aside, this, in a large part, is why Axel is.