In Memoriam [Open]
Who: Wheeljack (covertly…ideally =3;;;) plus whoever takes note
What: One person’s honoring of the one-year anniversary of an event even more important to him than his Waking Day, one that will always be an integral part of his place here, by presenting a gift to the city and those who live in it
Where: All over
When: Starting last night (Feb 19) ( Read more... )
It’s a boggle charm.
Look at how it moves, as if all on its own, reflecting the light, dancing in the wind. She just wants to touch it, watch it, stare at it for hours and days and never mind what goes on around her because this thing is so beautiful. A person can only Pretend to be a boggle for so long before she starts to turn into one, distracted as they are.
There are some countries, some places, that have learned the secrets of boggles. Simple, little things. Putting milk by the back door in England. Leaving the bathing house ready in Russia. Hanging orbs of glass from trees along the coast of America. Things that appease them, letting them know that they are remembered, worshiped, respected. Others tap into the secret that fairy tale creatures all too often suffer from obsessive compulsive disorder, and can no more see a beautiful thing than to long to touch it.
Anomie drops to sit cross-legged below the wind sculpture, staring up at it, memorized, with wide, mis-matched eyes, her mouth slightly ajar with awe.
She doesn’t know why it’s there. The boggle girl hardly even remembers what happened yesterday, let alone a year ago. And even if she did, then the only logic she would be able to concoct for someone like Wheeljack making something like this, is as a protective boggle-charm, in case Isis were to return. But then, he’d have done better to use glass.
So pretty.
Anomie doesn’t need to know the reasons.
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