Angels and Angles (for Isolde)

[weemanmurray]

He was sitting up the tree (the tree, not a tree), doing not a lot of anything. Rollo was asleep at the roots, and Ian was sitting on a low branch, one leg bent, one foot swinging. He was making something out of twisted wire. The barrel was safe down by the beach, hidden in the trees, for now, the fire was built and he'd done his best to calm

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[thefairone]

She had woken up wings. She'd let out a yelp so loud that she'd woken up Death and apologised to the other girl, before rushing from the room, her long white dressjust brushing the tops of her feet as she rushed out of the compund. She didn't understand. She had wings, white and snowy ones, like some sort of bird, but she wasn't a bird and she couldn't get them off and it didn't make any sense at all.

Ian would know, that's all she knew, as she made her way through the trees towards his and Hope's hut, her long mysteriously already half pulled up in a braid at the crown of her head. It didn't make sense. Why the strange wings? What was she?

[weemanmurray]

From up high, he watched her come into the clearing. Dressed as an Angel. Apparently, what he'd told River about the island playing tricks had been true enough because there was Isolde dressed like an Angel, though not like any Angel that Ian had ever seen. Surely Angels were better covered up that that, and less pretty.

He didn't call down to her at first, just watched her from above. His mam had always told him not to stare, but he figured it wasn't as bad if you didn't get caught.

[thefairone]

The most uncomfortable thing about her dress Isolde decided, was not the wings. Those were queer and odd, unnatural, yes, but they could be dealt with, blamed on something else. Her dress was pretty, and it did cover her legs and wasn't so bad. It wasn't as scant as some of the things she'd seen on the others so far today. No the worst was the relic on the chain about her neck, a silver cross on a chain.

It wasn't for one of her gods, and it made her feel dirty, and wrong in her wings. What was she, such a strange creature brought to life on this damn island. She shook her head and sighed as she continued on her way.

[weemanmurray]

She was almost out of the clearing when he called out to her.

"Ye can go lookin' for me, lass, but ye wilna find me."

He swung his other leg over the branch, sitting with both feet dangling, looking down at her.

"Ye look bonny t'day, Isolde. Did ye do somethin' t'yer hair that's different?"

He arched an eyebrow, barely containing a smile.

[thefairone]

She stopped her walking and turned about, turning and walking back looking up into the branches up at him. Shaking her head, she let out a sigh at his comments, her wings moving up and down with her breathing.

"Oh, I found ya, but yer not making it any easier," she replied, looking back at the ground for a moment before looking up at him. "I cannae follow ye up there, I'll get stuck. I can ye havnae notice, Ian Murray, I've got wings."

[weemanmurray]

"M'Uncle used ta say than nothin' fun is ever easy, Isolde," he said, leaning forward over his knees. "An' if ye've wings could ye no' fly up here to me?"

He couldn't help it. A smile spread across his face.
If she stamped her wee foot, he was going laugh. And it wouldn't be entirely his fault.

[thefairone]

"I dinnae know, can I? I've got wings, but am I bird? What am I? I've just got these strange feathery things and white dress, and a relic about my neck like a burden," she called back, frowning, her brow furrowing slightly.

She held up the cross on the chain for him to see. "See it? Your god weighs me down. Even if I could fly, my gods foundna let me."

[weemanmurray]

"Aye, I see it. M'Mam had one just like it."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. He felt bad about it after, and it wasn't much, but he did laugh. When he got himself together, he started to come down from the tree. He figurered that things were only going to get worse if he stayed up it.

"Och, it's a costume, lass. Be still."

[thefairone]

She sighed and watched him come down, stepping back from the tree, and dropping the cross to her chest.

"Aye, I see, but tis stuck ta me," she explained. "And I dinnae know what I am."

She reached a hand back and gingerly touched the feathers of a wing, a helpless expression on her face.

"What am I?"

[weemanmurray]

"Yer an angel, lass," said Ian, dropping the last few feet into a crouch, and studying her from low down, almost on his knees, which seemed appropriate, all things considered. "An' yer not th' only one. I saw a lad dressed as an Indian, an' I dinna ken what wee River was, but she was scared. Yer are th' prettiest girl that I've seen all day though."

He tilted his head, hair in his eyes and smiled up at her.

[thefairone]

She smiled, bowing her head slightly, her cheeks turning pink slightly.

"Aye. Am I?" she asked. She looked up and smiled slightly. "Still a fair daft day. Nothing is as it should be. What are we ta do?"

[weemanmurray]

"Aye, ye are," he said, still crouched down. "As bonny as a messenger o' any god."

He sketched a bow to her on his knees.

"Well, lass...we could get drunk. I'll gi' ye a boost up into th' tree, if ye want."

[thefairone]

"That might be a good idea," she nodded slightly, casting a glance about the clearing and then back at him.

"Wait it out, watch it occur from a fair distance until Samhain tomorrow."

She smiled a bit wider, comforted by the notion.

[weemanmurray]

"The barrel's down at th' beach already, but I've a full flask, an' that's enough for us, I reckon, this early in th' day."

He grinned up at her.

"If I lift ye, do ye reckon ye could climb, or would it be easier t'sit on th' roof o' th' house?"

[thefairone]

She looked up, gauging the branches, in comparison to her own state.

"I coulda probably do it, if started. Tis just the beginning that's all the fuss. I cannae get ma feel with this feathers on ma back," she answered, turning her face back to Ian.

[weemanmurray]

"Right enough," he said, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. He checked that his flask was in his back pocket, and then sketched her a better bow, staying bent and locking his fingers together.

"Yer foot, milady-Angel."