Mini-Challenge: Music Box
I give you Fiannas the night fae, who had yet to feature in her own little piece (which two fae's fault would that be?). Now only Nebeshanin's left for a bit of exposition, and to be honest, I'm a little bit hesitant to go poking around there ;D
Fiannas shivered slowly into shape, lifting her head from her knees as they separated, waiting for her chest and arms to do the same. As she turned her head from side to side, grimacing at the pull from her still-stony shoulders, she caught sight of someone, blurry, sitting by the cell door.
"Oh! Marinel!" she whispered happily, blinking proper sight into her eyes. Marinel was staring down at her feet with fixed concentration, tapping on the arms of the chair while she waited. They all found the shifting quite grotesque, Fiannas knew. It was very rare to see anyone in here before she'd properly finished changing.
"Marinel!" she repeated, still happy, and this time her voice rasped a bit louder. Marinel glanced over as she heard it, a smile flashing over her full face, but just as quickly looked away.
"Hello, Fiannas!" the researcher warmly told the floor. "I'm back!"
"Did you have fun?" she rasped. Her body was taking an awfully long time to thaw tonight. "Did you bring me pictures?"
"Lots of pictures. And something else, too."
Looking rather grateful for the distraction, Marinel bent down and started rummaging through her satchel. Fiannas tried to concentrate on getting some extra circulation of magic through her body, reaching over for the shirt left out for her once her torso had thawed out enough.
At last Marinel came up with a tissue-wrapped little oblong in one hand. Fiannas was more or less shifted by then, except for a stubborn foot that clacked stone-on-stone whenever she tapped it on the floor. It would come. She stepped the uncooperative not-flesh through her skirt and pulled it up, standing and smiling to greet Marinel properly.
"I hope you like it," said Marinel, also standing up from her chair and holding it out as Fiannas awkwardly limped over.
Fiannas took it, curious, and turned it over in her stiff fingers for a moment. It was smallish, twenty centimetres by ten in length and width, and probably another ten in height. It was quite heavy, though. She couldn't work it out. She kept turning it end by end and eyeing it from different angles, admiring how bright the blue-purple tissue paper was against her grey fingers.
Finally defeated, she carefully began to unwrap it, undoing each tucked fold with care.
"Just rip it," Marinel laughed.
"I don't have any tissue paper," protested Fiannas, still turning and pulling. "I want to keep it."
"I can bring you tissue paper if you want it, though I can't imagine why you would."
"Ah!" Fiannas extracted one end of the gift from the pretty paper, still absently tapping her stone toes on the floor to get them moving. Rich, dark whorls of jarrah-wood waited beneath, though the paper made it look pale. It was smooth and glossy, laminated. "A beautiful box!"
"Keep unwrapping ..."
She felt her smile broadening as she gently pulled it free, already delighted. She loved things made of wood. Out of the blanket of tissue-paper, which she laid on one of her side-tables, she could see that there was an inset carved into the jarrah: a stylised woman with huge eyes, one closed, and hairs radiating out from her head in wavy locks. She looked a bit like a picture of one of the early human sun-gods.
There was a loopy brass key projecting from the back of the box, too. Fiannas finally understood. With a small, appreciative gasp she wound it up, and then opened the glossy lid to let the tinkly notes come pouring out.
"It's a tad touristy-kitsch," said Marinel, wincing a bit self-consciously - the song was a Corruthian folk-dance from the turn of the century - "but I thought you'd like the lid."
"Yes, she's very pretty," Fiannas replied, closing the lid for a moment to look at the woman again. "I love it, Marinel! Thank you."
Marinel laughed. "I'm glad! You know who she is, right?"
"Um ... is she a fae?"
"She's Mensinthane."
Fiannas looked up at Marinel enquiringly.
"Mensinthane," repeated Marinel. "The Mountain-Cutter."
"Oh," Fiannas said.
Marinel looked astonished, and a little upset. Fiannas felt horrible. "Mensinthane, Fiannas! She was a night fae legend in Corruth, and the human locals in the north tell stories about her as well. Famous, famous stories there. The Turning of the Sea? The Blinding of the Moon?"
"I'm really sorry," said Fiannas unhappily. "I don't think I've ever heard her mentioned in the Hold before. Maybe my sister told me when I was little. I honestly can't remember. But I still think the box is beautiful, and I'm going to find out more about Mensinthane as soon as I can."
For what seemed like a long while, Marinel stared at her.
"All the night fae know about Mensinthane," she said in a quiet voice. "All the ones I've ever talked to. It would be like ... it would be like me not knowing when and how the Age of Iron began."
"Oh, I know that," replied Fiannas with a little smile, trying to make it a joke. She was still crushed to think she might have given Marinel - by far the kindest of all the Holders - some kind of offence.
Marinel sighed. She seemed even sadder. "Yes, you do, don't you?"
"It's a beautiful box," Fiannas said again, anxious.
"It's a beautiful story," replied Marinel firmly, shaking off whatever had made her sad and giving Fiannas's arm a little stroke. She felt immediately relieved. "Sit down somewhere, Fiannas."
"You have some questions for me?"
"No, not today. Today I'm going to tell you about Mensinthane."
"Ah, you're so sweet to me, Marinel." Fiannas grinned, sitting down where she was with her box carefully gripped in one hand. "The Tale of Fae Mensinthane! Heh, this is kind of funny when you think about it."
The small, comforting smile dropped off Marinel's face.
"No," the researcher said, low and angry and unhappy. "No, sweetheart, it isn't."
Fiannas shivered slowly into shape, lifting her head from her knees as they separated, waiting for her chest and arms to do the same. As she turned her head from side to side, grimacing at the pull from her still-stony shoulders, she caught sight of someone, blurry, sitting by the cell door.
"Oh! Marinel!" she whispered happily, blinking proper sight into her eyes. Marinel was staring down at her feet with fixed concentration, tapping on the arms of the chair while she waited. They all found the shifting quite grotesque, Fiannas knew. It was very rare to see anyone in here before she'd properly finished changing.
"Marinel!" she repeated, still happy, and this time her voice rasped a bit louder. Marinel glanced over as she heard it, a smile flashing over her full face, but just as quickly looked away.
"Hello, Fiannas!" the researcher warmly told the floor. "I'm back!"
"Did you have fun?" she rasped. Her body was taking an awfully long time to thaw tonight. "Did you bring me pictures?"
"Lots of pictures. And something else, too."
Looking rather grateful for the distraction, Marinel bent down and started rummaging through her satchel. Fiannas tried to concentrate on getting some extra circulation of magic through her body, reaching over for the shirt left out for her once her torso had thawed out enough.
At last Marinel came up with a tissue-wrapped little oblong in one hand. Fiannas was more or less shifted by then, except for a stubborn foot that clacked stone-on-stone whenever she tapped it on the floor. It would come. She stepped the uncooperative not-flesh through her skirt and pulled it up, standing and smiling to greet Marinel properly.
"I hope you like it," said Marinel, also standing up from her chair and holding it out as Fiannas awkwardly limped over.
Fiannas took it, curious, and turned it over in her stiff fingers for a moment. It was smallish, twenty centimetres by ten in length and width, and probably another ten in height. It was quite heavy, though. She couldn't work it out. She kept turning it end by end and eyeing it from different angles, admiring how bright the blue-purple tissue paper was against her grey fingers.
Finally defeated, she carefully began to unwrap it, undoing each tucked fold with care.
"Just rip it," Marinel laughed.
"I don't have any tissue paper," protested Fiannas, still turning and pulling. "I want to keep it."
"I can bring you tissue paper if you want it, though I can't imagine why you would."
"Ah!" Fiannas extracted one end of the gift from the pretty paper, still absently tapping her stone toes on the floor to get them moving. Rich, dark whorls of jarrah-wood waited beneath, though the paper made it look pale. It was smooth and glossy, laminated. "A beautiful box!"
"Keep unwrapping ..."
She felt her smile broadening as she gently pulled it free, already delighted. She loved things made of wood. Out of the blanket of tissue-paper, which she laid on one of her side-tables, she could see that there was an inset carved into the jarrah: a stylised woman with huge eyes, one closed, and hairs radiating out from her head in wavy locks. She looked a bit like a picture of one of the early human sun-gods.
There was a loopy brass key projecting from the back of the box, too. Fiannas finally understood. With a small, appreciative gasp she wound it up, and then opened the glossy lid to let the tinkly notes come pouring out.
"It's a tad touristy-kitsch," said Marinel, wincing a bit self-consciously - the song was a Corruthian folk-dance from the turn of the century - "but I thought you'd like the lid."
"Yes, she's very pretty," Fiannas replied, closing the lid for a moment to look at the woman again. "I love it, Marinel! Thank you."
Marinel laughed. "I'm glad! You know who she is, right?"
"Um ... is she a fae?"
"She's Mensinthane."
Fiannas looked up at Marinel enquiringly.
"Mensinthane," repeated Marinel. "The Mountain-Cutter."
"Oh," Fiannas said.
Marinel looked astonished, and a little upset. Fiannas felt horrible. "Mensinthane, Fiannas! She was a night fae legend in Corruth, and the human locals in the north tell stories about her as well. Famous, famous stories there. The Turning of the Sea? The Blinding of the Moon?"
"I'm really sorry," said Fiannas unhappily. "I don't think I've ever heard her mentioned in the Hold before. Maybe my sister told me when I was little. I honestly can't remember. But I still think the box is beautiful, and I'm going to find out more about Mensinthane as soon as I can."
For what seemed like a long while, Marinel stared at her.
"All the night fae know about Mensinthane," she said in a quiet voice. "All the ones I've ever talked to. It would be like ... it would be like me not knowing when and how the Age of Iron began."
"Oh, I know that," replied Fiannas with a little smile, trying to make it a joke. She was still crushed to think she might have given Marinel - by far the kindest of all the Holders - some kind of offence.
Marinel sighed. She seemed even sadder. "Yes, you do, don't you?"
"It's a beautiful box," Fiannas said again, anxious.
"It's a beautiful story," replied Marinel firmly, shaking off whatever had made her sad and giving Fiannas's arm a little stroke. She felt immediately relieved. "Sit down somewhere, Fiannas."
"You have some questions for me?"
"No, not today. Today I'm going to tell you about Mensinthane."
"Ah, you're so sweet to me, Marinel." Fiannas grinned, sitting down where she was with her box carefully gripped in one hand. "The Tale of Fae Mensinthane! Heh, this is kind of funny when you think about it."
The small, comforting smile dropped off Marinel's face.
"No," the researcher said, low and angry and unhappy. "No, sweetheart, it isn't."