Smokey

[Fallon]

66th Winter 513AV

What was that smell? Sweet and bitter, yet far from pungent and intrusive. There was an inhale, the warmth rolling and resting down at the top of her throat, that distinct wooded taste resting upon her palette. It crept its way down, filling her lungs before it simply sat there for a few ticks trembling. Fallon lowered her long tobacco pipe and exhaled the warm smoke from her lips. It fell as a white wave, the crescent breaking out upon the ebony black sand that was her clothing. It dispersed itself to the air that surrounded her, and vanished into the surrounding dull light.

It was within the chasm of thought once more she sat in the ruins of a grey hall with the great broken pillars that rose up into the roof that was the sky. Winter had grasped upon the land, the pale moon casting its light down and allowing shadows to be cast. But, it was different this time. The fire pit was aglow, the flames roaring and casting warmth upon the cold air and pushing back the snow that had circled it. The stone beneath had grown broken and uneven, a gnarled oak tree broke out and rose. It was next to the fire pit it had positioned itself, rising up and spreading out its branches into the dark sky. But they were bare, having locked themselves within winters grasp. But still it existed, having grown tall since her last visit to this place.

It was within the high back wood throne that she sat legs stretched out, the warm furs draping from the wood and across the floor. The glowing fire cast strange shadows across the ground, the black shapes dancing as it flickered to a fro. Lifting the mouth piece to her lips once more and sucked at it. Her eyes turned, firstly down to the great tome that leaned against the side of her throne then across. There sat another throne, matching and made of oak, but empty of someone to sit there. Her ivory lips pursed into a line, before once more she exhaled the tobacco smoke.

Her sight turned, looking back to the old plinth where a shattered remains of an iron throne and broken chains rested. That was in the past now, those bindings would not hold her down. Not now or ever again. There was only a final scan of the scene, her head leaning back and tapping against the hard back of the throne. Alone. She was alone again in her guarding over the winter ruins. The state of darkness, the cold watch upon the wall. To be that existing flicker of light within the surrounding gloom.

Right?

She shook her head, the dulled thunk of the pipe bowl tapping upon the arm of the chair. No, that was wrong. It was something else, something more than just that. The last bastion against the elements, the last stand against the ice, against life? No, war? Destruction? There was a blink and she pressed the dried tobacco into the end once more, a firm thumb pressing it down. Taking a splint of flame she relit it, puckering gently at the mouth piece. She never really understood what it was against or her exact duty for that matter - if it could even be called a duty. It was something just simply accepted over a time.

But now she would wait for an answer. For it would come, and when it did she would be ready.

oocFor sanity sake and to keep order, only the first 3 or 4 others before it closes please! XD

[Caelum]

Caelum was more typically the question. It wasn't often that he found himself in the form of an answer, all of the lines of him long since blurred by the too great glaring of light as it hissed at his shouldering shadows. He was a hunter, a dreamer, a seeker, a player, a healer, a lover, a determined manufacturer of hope to heal the heavens. But an answer? No. Answers were what he sought. When Fallon looked again to the broken throne with its iron chains, she would find him standing on the plinth and peering down. The toe of a battered riding boot gave the chain a questioning little nudge whereupon it rattled gleefully and rolled a helpful inch aside. He smirked and it was entirely too compelling, eyes lifting to meet Fallon's beneath her desolate little sky. "I feel like I ought to have brought a picnic. This place could use a sunny day, eh?" His drawling words had a bit of boom to them beneath the branches, all of the unkempt corners of his languages stirring in this place of dreams in ways it could not in the waking world. The celestial language was a shy communicator. Caelum spoke Commom, however, not only because he could but because it seemed appropriate when he dropped the slender young woman a head and shoulders sort of bow. It had dignity, but little eloquence. Even his obeisances were a bit obscure. He wandered off the plinth, hands caught in the pockets of a long, split riding jacket and landed with a dull thud and a puff of dust. Inhaling the scent of her tobacco smoke deep into his lungs, he meandered toward her throne and let his smirk soften toward a smile. "Hullo. Sorry to have intruded. I went wandering and sort of stumbled into here."

[Fallon]

The pipe was raised to her lips once more, the white wash escaping as she eyed him. For a moment there was some regard, her thoughts congregating down into one point, firstly to the smirk and then down to the once binding chain he toed. There was a flicker of distain, the memory prickling there before she brushed it aside - much like the tobacco smoke that hung in the air. Words fell from her lips with little thought - though to her they made sense -, undefined in dialect and crisper in comparison to his, "You are late."

Returning to her leaning back, she continued with her eyes staring into the crackling flames. There was only a moment of silence, a long mulling of his more jovial words.

"It is winter. Sunny days are few and rare, the long cold nights common," her brow creased, the sombre mood resting upon her tongue. At least until it lightened, "But, summer always comes." There was a nonchalant shrug, her free hand gesturing to the empty throne for him to take it if he wished. Whether he did or did not was of her concern - it was an offer after all. Fingers drummed against the arm of the throne, a steady beat that matched that almost of a heart. Loud then quiet, hard then soft.

"You make it sound like you wander and stumble a lot. Be careful, it could turn into a bad habit," there was a stretch, followed by the firm point of the mouth piece at him, "And bad habits can turn both addictive and dangerous." She gave a puff of the pipe and promptly offered it up to him, "Smoke?" If he did not accept it then she would simply settle it down and turn her attention to the large tome that rested next to her. Gathering it up along with her knees, the woman brought herself into a curl and turned to address him properly.

"So, a wanderer, a woman and a winter's night. My, it sounds like the beginning of some farfetched tale. Or some cliché romance, if you are into such things," the dark orbs stared at him, the ivory skin turning bronze in the light of the flames. Wicked would describe the next expression. It rose up in a flash, her tone turning to that of playful before it died down once more, "Every tale has a reason though, so what brought the wanderer into these dark halls? Or is that a secret to the reader?"

[Caelum]

"On the contrary, dear lady. I am very much on time," he rejoined. He hesitated and appeared to be momentarily in doubt. "Unless the sun's down," he said finally. "It isn't, is it? Oh, petch dreaming. It can be damnably confusing." He squinted up through the gnarled oak branches, attempting to to claim a better view of the sky; but it all felt clotted with storm clouds, all light pallid and these ruins ashen. He idled toward the throne she indicated, his regard falling to it before he flopped right down. He sat sideways on the throne, tossing a leg over the arm and strong shoulders rolling back so that he could make his study of her when her face went wicked in the firelight. He wore his horns, no matter the hour, and they gleamed carnelian and gold as if it were autumn still. His hair too held embers, like perhaps he was trapped back in that season, colors unchanging like the forsaken creature he had once been. If he noticed it, he did not care. He was far more interested in the questions posed by his company. "I know a thing or two about addiction," he reassured her (if such words could ever actually be reassuring). "I've stumbled into a lot of places." Stumbled right out of the Ukalas, as one priest had once suggested, as if to ask how it happened that Caelum had somehow missed the giant rift in the floor there. Bad hangover? Maybe. Ill luck? Possible. No rift at all? Likely. He accepted her tobacco pipe and settled the mouthpiece comfortably into the corner of his lips, puffing amiably while watching her through the gentle drift of smoke. "I don't know yet," he admitted finally, removing the pipe. Bright eyes held dark. "I don't know why I'm here. Or why you're here. It's not exactly the sort of setting I'd have chosen. So this must be your dream, eh? Or you must be just a memory in my mind?" He tilted his head. "Do you have a name? Are you real?"

[Fallon]

A finger was licked, and the page idly turned as he spoke between gentle puffs. But she did not interrupt him, it was rude to. It hosted all sorts of bad manners unsuitable for first contact. Eyes scanned the blank page, unphased by the lack of words or images upon the surface. It made sense in her mind, but she did not quite understand how.

Blank. Like a new canvas.

Her brow gave a knit to his question, a moment of pondering that paused her in the middle of her page turning. Releasing the corner she brought her gaze upwards to him, and stopped. Was it always this cold? Always locked in that of Winter? Or was it just her own? The oak gave a groan in response, a mournful song within the silence of her thought. It screeched and echoed, before snapping shut in the yawn of the night. Why was it dark? Why was it so cold?

"Define real," she began, the dark orbs meeting his own, "Real is only something that you yourself can decide. I think, I doubt and therefore I am. Least, that is what I believe. The counter argument is that are you yourself real? Or are you just a memory in my own mind? Questions are double edged blades." Fingers drummed upon the cover of the book, the same beat as before. Her head gave a tilt, her eyes blinking and then pulling away, "They reveal to the sharp mind what you're looking for, and by the looks of things you are determining by existence. Why? Or is that a taboo question Wanderer." She paused at that moment, a twitch of nervous energy buzzing within her mind, "Mine or yours, this is the scene for this nights performance."

Her head at that point simply rested against the back of the throne, "I have several names. But the many know me as Fallon. So you shall do the same. And so, keeping up appearances, do you have a name?" She rested the book on the arm before her, balancing it carefully on the spot, "Or am I not allowed to know?"

Lips twitched, the mind turning back to the flames and their heat, "A game. I propose one. A question for a question, an answer for an answer. I will let you begin, it is only civil to allow the guest to have the first move."

[Caelum]

The blank paged book caught Caelum's attention and he withdrew the pipe from his mouth with a sigh. Smoke billowed outward before dispersing and he watched her clever fingers and the way a thousand thoughts seemed to scurry through her eyes before her lips settled on one. "Not existence," he told her almost absently, still wondering at her searching through a book with no knowledge to display. "Not exactly. Relevancy, maybe." He considered. "You talk like a dreamer. Did you know that? What is real? What is reality? It is only ever a matter of perspective, and perspective is in a state of constant change." He blinked, eyelids heavy, and surfaced from the drift of his thoughts to focus on Fallon's face. Leaning forward, he politely returned the pipe to her. His smile was impossibly endearing. He wasn't even trying. Nonethless, immortal beauty and divine magnetism concocted a dangerously trustworthy and attractive appearance. "Are you familiar with Nysel? Anyway, yes. Of course you can have my name --" And he sprawled back, still sideways in his throne. His hands spread, strong and long fingered. "Caelum. It's not worth much. I made it up. Nobody like me ever actually can carry their name, their real name. Why wouldn't you be allowed to know?" He fell silent for a few beats of the heart, one battered riding boot bobbing a little from where his knee hooked over the throne's arm. He was long legged and did not appear to feel the cold of the night. Maybe he was too busy thinking about games and the volatile kind he had already played in dreams. He could feel the soft coming of ranuri shivering through the chains within him, shaking gently against the borders of his soul. He breathed out and something in him gentled at Fallon and her desire to conduct a normal conversation. "Done and done," he confirmed. He would play her game. One hand lifted, fingers unfurling to encompass this dark place. "What does this place symbolize or mean to you? Does it mean anything?"

[Fallon]

Fallon only gave a respectful nod to him as he returned the pipe, her fingers reaching out and taking it. For a while she mused over it, her eyes staring down to the burning tobacco before she simply let the mouth piece rest between her lips once more. There was a pucker, the long slow inhale of the smoke, before once more it rippled out into the air. Her eyes lifted from the page, her head cocked to one side over his words, "Talk like a dreamer? No I did not know, nor do I know of this... Nysel?"

She questioned the name, it was one she did not know or recognise. A friend of his? An associate? Or perhaps just a trick. She turned her gaze back down to the book, the tip of the finger tracing the blank surface with careful thought and a gentle swirl being drawn out, "Some people do not like to share their names. Some also believe themselves above that of sharing. Others... well who knows?"

Dipping once more into silence she listened, the finger pulling itself down the page and a long black smear following after it. She only gave a glance at her tips, the one of puzzle and confusion, before she simply continued. Tracing out a circle, she gave a pull against it bringing it out into a new symbol. Though what exactly was yet to be known. A gentle hum rested upon her lips, the flickering to and fro of thoughts.

"I was once told that a dream is a reflection of your inner self. Correct me if you think otherwise. But, I see it as the ego, the emotions, the soul within the flesh. Least, that is what I believe," She gave a shrug, "So, that is what this place is. A reflection of my inner self and who I am. Winter because I am a child of winter, night because it allows thought, shackles because..." Falling silent the girl snapped her jaw shut. No, that memory was not for discussion - especially to a stranger in all but name. Her eyes however remained fixed upon Caelum, only occasionally blinking, "I am sure if you put some thought into it you'll be able to work things out."

Lips curled into a smile, the face brightening, "It is my turn I believe." There was the click, the gentle tap of the pipe upon the arm of her throne before she took in a long deep puff, "What is the question you seek an answer for?"

[Caelum]

"Nysel is the god of dreams, Fallon." An easy grace slumped him forward, towards her so that he could stretch his arm across the distance between their thrones that suddenly was small enough to accommodate his desires. Time and distance meant nothing to the immortal dreamer. He watched as she traced a circle onto an empty page and how ink spilled compliantly. His own hand lowered, an index finger dipping to the paper so that he could help her reshape the circle into what it was meant to be -- a keyhole. "He is the son of Akajia and Wysar and his home is the Chavena where every scrap of wisdom ever known is stored and remembered." The explanation came in the same easy voice. He could have been talking about his friend who had opened a shop in town that he thought, perhaps, Fallon might be interested in patronizing. "And you do talk like a dreamer," he continued. His fingers traced inside the opening of the keyhole, outlining the shape of an eye. Satisfied he withdrew his hand and golden eyes picked up to judge her reaction. "Reality is often a matter of perception. We can create it, and we can unmake it. That is one of Nysel's more common symbols." Finally, he leaned back, slumping again. His temple idled to rest against the high back of his chair and eyelids grew heavy while his gaze strayed. Eventually he found himself looking at the shackles, his countenance sobering. He made no comment on them or what they may or may not symbolize to his host. He was wiser than that, wasn't he? If he gave an unconscious rub to his wrists, then it could mean nothing. Surely a creature such as he could never be so well acquainted with chains. Surely. "I -- what?" Her question caught him off guard. His head turned, startled, and he looked at her again with a smile that was almost bemused. Those rich, clutching shadows dimmed, wary of all his light. "What question is it I seek an answer for? You're..." He considered. "Astute. I seek the answer to a great many questions, Fallon. There are so many that you could string them like prayer beads and they might be used to strangle a god." His hands turned up, a quiet gesture, but he spoke often with his hands as a habit of both the Pavi language in which he was most fluent and the fact of just being him. Nevermind that he spoke Common now. Did it matter? Hardly. They were dreaming. "How do I go home?" The answer Fallon wanted was given in the interrogative. How do I go home? Would he ever be home again? How, how, how. It was a thunderous beat that had chased him right out of the sky a decade now gone. It was the heart of him, the very core of who he was, and the constant evolution of not only that question but all of the many and varied answers to it he found was what strung together all of his bones. It was more defining than his name.

[Fallon]

There was only a gentle nod, the eyes following the finger down as it pulled the shape into keyhole. Her eyes gave only a flicker, her lips pursing into a line as it looked upon the shape before. Akajia, Wysar and Chavena, more words and names she did not understand. Something almost beyond her comprehension for the moment. Making and unmaking, stored and remembered, a massive vault where everything possible could be remembered. Things long lost, techniques from an age long before.

Wisdom was the one word that snagged her attention. For a moment there was a frown, her skin prickling in irritation where the Lykata should have been. Even as he reclined this troubled expression of hers did not lift, or at least not until finally her brow rose and the words simply fell, "But I thought Eyris governed over wisdom... Unless the two domains are linked somehow. Oh bother." She pressed her palm onto her forehead, pushing back the mane of hair in the process. Even the puffing of smoke halted as she held him regard.

Or at least until his confused expression reached her eyes. Stuck upon her question, she watched as he comprehended it whilst her own wore one of amusement. There was only a snort of amusement as she imagined the strangling of some divine creature with prayer beads, before discarding it as simply impossible. What could in their own right would let a mortal get into range to do such a silly thing. There was only a slow nod, calm and collected whilst the weight of his words settled.

Home, such an elusive place. Her lips broke into a curl, only to flicker down to the page and then over to its blank partner. For a moment there was a pause, the finger tip quivering over the top of it as if deeply thinking

"Depends entirely on your perception of home," she spoke in a low tone, the tip of her finger drawing out two bumps next to each other, and then a straight line towards the centre of the page, "Is it a place you where forcefully ripped upon? A bittersweet lingering upon your form? Or is it where you turn your head to simply because you are defiant that it is right." The finger drew up from that point to meet the start of the first bump and draw the rough shape of a heart. Tip withdrawing she moved her finger to the empty space in the centre of it, "Maybe it is just simplistic views, but home to me is where the heart is. It's where you have those who will stand behind you, your friends who you cherish, you're loved ones... not just romantically of course. It's where you feel safe and at peace." She gave a smile, the flames of the fire brightening with it in refection, "So, to go home, sometimes all you have to do is open your eyes."

Finger dragging down she managed to make the shape of a key, a long shaft with a ring at the top and three stubs coming from the tip. Raising the pipe once more she sucked in the warm smoke and exhaled it through her nostrils.

"Your turn I believe, more so as I cheated a little there," she spoke as she offered the pipe to him once more.

[Caelum]

“It is history, the collective energies of sentience on Mizahar, which with the Eyris’s gift of understanding, can grant wisdom,” he explained when a deliberation of thought marred her brow. “That is the Chavena, made up of all our chavi – our lives, our emotions, our perceptions.” One corner of his mouth slid up. “I like to imagine Nysel and the Queen of Learning as friends.” Silence settled over him when Fallon proceeded to speak on home. The curve of his mouth wasted away like the slow waning of Leth’s own crescent smile. Some of the more charming aspects of his personality hardened perceptibly in the wake of Fallon’s response. How do I get home? He had asked. And of course she had an answer. Everyone had a fucking answer, but they knew not the murderous thrum of his blood nor how his soul had been swung around and about, over and over, like a compass needle at the whims of his most beloved gods. They did not understand the restlessness that rode his bones and sent him racing across the map, twisted and tugged, molded and shaped until someone could actually see the rising and the setting in the eyes the creature who sat sideways on Fallon’s throne. “If all I must do is open my eyes, then when I wake, I’ll be sure to take especial note of my surroundings,” he murmured. His smile returned, outlining his words in good humor. He stowed his bitterness away, wrapped himself up tight about his wounds so as to hide them even in dreaming. It was not this girl’s fault, lest she happened to be Syna in disguise, and it would take the likes of Zulrav’s personal storm clouds to so cloak the goddess of the sun. “You’re not wrong,” he went on, one hand turning up in offering. Strong shoulders gave a wriggle as leaned forward to take her pipe. “Home is often a matter of the heart and the key to its fortress –“ He tapped a finger to her tome. “A matter of viewpoint. Cheated, did you?” His smile sharpened to a smirk. He’d noticed, and not cared. “Where, or who or what, is your home, Fallon?”