O.D. 4.9.2000 [1:03 p.m.]

(part 2 of 2)

[Jarl Thane]

Sat 16:49 PDT Two sets of skins, three sets of souls...a thousand sets of tales and ten claws. The essence of the cat? Perhaps. Or perhaps his essence stretches as wide as the sky, and holds as much as the world; perhaps he is a world unto himself, his tales, his grace, his blood, his heritage. Perhaps, in those bright, bright eyes lies another universe, a mirror and a complement to this--a universe that, for a moment, stretches out to touch the (tainted, dying) world behind her eyes.

He follows her out, turns his face to the brilliance of the stars. Always, always, is he astounded by the sheer number of them in the desert, where the air is dark and clear--but tonight...tonight, it is different, and magnificent as he had never seen before. Tonight the stars sang in glorious harmony; tonight he could inhale the very scent of the stars, and feel their light as minute pinpoints of tingling warmth upon his skin. Tonight, he could look past the inverted bowl of the sky, black now in the night, and see the beyond. What lies beyond? The Dream, of course. Fantasy. Creativity. Creation. Divinity. And perched upon that bowl turned suddenly (somehow) translucent--a vast round moon, rounder than it should be, brighter, closer.

Mother.

Cat and Dream--a true gift did she give him, allowing him a moment, a night, to join the shadows of the cat-legacy to the brilliance of the moon-dream. A gift, did she bestow upon him, that he might turn his face now to the celestial Mother, to stretch his arms out and embrace the soft wash of light (almost tangible) all about and laugh, purely and simply and delightedly. A gift, she gave him, that him might feel the love of Seline in her silver light as only the enchanted might, and understand it as only a cat could.

"Do you know--they say the Ceilican used to dance in the light of the moon, wild dances of pure joy that would last all night and all day and all night again. Never did I understand why until now."

[Kelly O'Riley]

Sat 17:11 PDT ~Is she quiet? Could she be--silent, the ever-rushing, ever-moving, child of the shapers of the canyons... playful carver of the earths faith, daughter of the wind, child of the clouds--dream of the mists and pristine alpine breezes long, long ago when they slept, and daydreamed. Is she? She is, though always in the background (..always..) is the sound of chimes (--fey bells, enchantment) as one slender (bird claw) hand (thief) toys with her (...her? her?) gadgets and gizmo's....

...she smiles though, so sweetly is the curve of her (perfect) lips, so (joyful? joy is abandoned, wild, a wild thing) small in the cant of her head (bird, sparrow, flight). The smile widens, pure, beautiful--radiant as he laughs... laughter -- dreams -- is (are) more precious to her than any number of things. ~ The Ceilican? Who are they? Do you like? Please, don't be ... scared, if you are--some people are scared, some people can't accept. Do you know what I mean? It's hard for them... ~So clear is it that she doesn't understand, so very clear--its incomprehensible, to her, to live in a world where wishing on a star (see that--right there? the fall of a star, from heavens... falling... falling...falling in a blaze of rainbow shattered light, a thousand wishes--its path is plotted, wild--make a wish!) didn't hold the chance that maybe--just maybe--the wish would be answered.

Why ever would she want to live anywhere else? Why would she want to lose that--why would anyone? Outside, there are things in the desert only dreamed of. Not far away is a cactus, a shadowy hulking figure (monster?) peaceful, and on its oustretched prickled arm rests a bird--an owl, but an owl with madonna's face and unblinking eyes, butter golden hair, and small deer antlers. Imagination? Imagination lives--is real here.~

[Jarl Thane]

Sat 17:26 PDT "The Ceilican," he murmurs (even when he closed his eyes...even then, he could see her, see Her, Mother-Moon-goddess, creator of all his kind), "the faerie-cats. All gone now..." he shakes his head. "All gone now. Lost with their faerieland."

Was it the enchantment that magnified his motion? How deep his sorrows run now! How painful it is, this grief for a lost tribe that he had never before even considered for more than a moment, two. He opens his eyes and lowers them from the heavens (how does she see his eyes? What color are they--how many shades of amber and gold, hues and flavors blending, mixing, bleeding and intertwining?), looks at her--and how can anyone remain sorrowful, when such beauty is set before him? Her eyes, her hair, and the landscape behind her--the silence (never quite complete) of the desert, the ripples on the lake, silver and blue and...

...and there was an owl on the cactus, and the owl has the calm, compassionate face of a...

Stunned, he reaches out, gropes for her hand and clasps it with the strength of a drowning man. "What's that?" Just see. Just believe. Easy enough to say; quite another thing to do. Maybe he was mad after all... "Is that a--" and he struggles to make sense of it, manages only a halfway logical explanation, "--a spirit?"

[Kelly O'Riley]

Sat 17:53 PDT Nothing ever goes completely, you know, I think its silly to think so--maybe you could find one if you looked, maybe they are hiding, and faerie land isn't gone its only closed forever and ever, but thats Summer for you, when you go into another Season, I wish we weren't going into another season. Nothing has to be lost.. it simply goes misplaced for a while.. because it wants to be found--or hidden.. just have to heed the call, its like that blonde youth in Britain, the one who was destined to find King Arthurs treasures, did you know that hasn't happened yet?

~Then there is the city--the jewel of the desert, but such a stagnant place--so dreamless, and yet, and yet, at the same time bursting with new colors, new life... imagine what it would feel--whats the dream of a tiger trapped behind bars? What do the lights imagine? What roams the streets that he never would have, and has never seen, and will never see again (--and will not remember...)? There is ...

..ahh, such magic--something just blotted out the light of the moon for a moment (dare you look up? dare you??), and Firecracker hops off of the rock she had come to be perched on, in a jangle of bells, and a graceful twirling motion head tipped up to follow the trail of... a giant--giant--giant moth, moon moth, wings so big that they obscured the moon, and the moons light shone through them as though they were stained glass, such a pretty peridot green and lantern yellow. Somehow, before it goes too far--the moth folds in on itself, and falls.. falls... falls, disapears, gone.

All is dark again, but the darkness is velvet--fey are sent running from their houses, because nightmares turn too real (too.. real... fantasy..). Nightmares lurk too, did you see that--the slightest shift of the dark near a rock, near the corner of the house, the long.. long.. fingers, gone so quickly--but so boneless, so pale and corpselike while there? What does the polluted (stagnant, he can see now--dreamless, cold, dying) waters of the lake hide? What nightmares vicious and dripping venom.

...she winces, though she doesn't understand human pain, physical pain (...meat, disgust), she does feel it when occupying her husk (just a shell--really, just a shell, this mortal body), when he crushes her hand, though she doesn't mind the strangling grip (her bones--so light, as though they were hollow), and Firecracker cranes her head to look at what he's looking at, talking all the while--voice, endless, friendly, fluting...~ A spirit? It could be, it could be a desert spirit, the further out into the desert you go the more there are, there's this one two headed coyote who.. well, its sort of a ribald--thats the word, right? ribald tale--but he's very nice to talk too, there are lots of those type of 'spirits' all around the desert, most of them are shy though, there are snake ones.. what do you like to dream? Do you dream spirits?

~She sounds fascinated, truly--and then, sky eyes, sunset eyes, dawn eyes, just.. light up~ Would you like to dance beneath the moons light, and all that you said earlier? I LOVE to dance--I do sometimes, over near my home, out there...~She waves, negligently, towards--out there.....and the owl with the madonna's pure bright and shining face, smoothe face, unblinking animal eyes, cocks his head and cries out into the wild (..hoot..hoot..give a hoot?), it then turns its head--all the way around, ALL THE WAY AROUND, and stiffs dark bark colored wings, before flapping off. Silent. Small. It could fit in his palm...

...what next?~

[Jarl Thane]

Sat 18:13 PDT He is turning this way and that--there is simply too much to see, too much to experience and it was also so insane, this dreamworld on the flip side of reality (or the reality on the flip side of the dreamworld?)--and he maintains his grip on her hand, like a child entering a (scary/fun)house for the first time.

A moth as large as the sun unfurls over the moon, glows, and fades; the lake hides monsters born of nightmares. The desert is a vast stretch of shimmering death/life; as he watches, he swears the entire top layer of the sand rises from the earth, rises into a form, a nymph, a sand-goddess (shall I tell you a thousand tales, a thousand and one, to keep you by my side forever?) who stretches out her arms and--as he flinches back, wide-eyed, vanishes to sand that disappears before it even touches the ground. Look! He turns his head to catch that glimpse out of the corner of his eyes, to see the monstrosity, slimey, nine-headed and dripping, rearing out of the lake only to disappear to nothing the moment his eyes found it. A shudder steals down his spine. Faerieland/dreamland: nightmare and fantasy all in one. His gaze shifts again--lifts, lilts, glides upon the wind to fall upon a(phoenix?) bird flaming as bright as the sun, coming straight at him--duck!--only to pass right through him in the barest kiss of heat upon his skin and rematerialize on the other side, laughing (laughing?), soaring away...and perhaps his mind is wrestling with this, trying to put sense to the senseless; or perhaps he believes this is the Umbra of the dog-shifters; or perhaps he knows this to be what it is. A dream, no more. No less.

Is it real? Ah, there is the question anyone might ask, yes? But what is real? Is the real the tangible? Then no, it is not. But then he is not wholly real, either, for he is equal parts spirit, man and cat. Then perhaps the spirits are real. Manifestations of some consciousness without form, without body, without a end to their endless lives. But then what different are dreams? Intangible. Illogical. And never truly ended--when does one ever stop dreaming? Dreams lie before life, and after.

"I dream of the places I have been--" a rabbit is coming, only it is not a rabbit; it is suddenly a dog, a goat, a--winged?--horse, a pegasus until he blinks...and then it is simply a rabbit again, "--magnified. And I dream of the places I would like to go, the things I would like to see--but you can never quite remember a dream when you wake up. I forget most of it. I carry only a few fleeting images with me, and a feel, an emotion from the dream."

He turns to her, his attention briefly diverted by a streak of light that resolves itself into a serpent at their feet, coiling before streaking off again. "Is that what you are, then? A spirit, or a dream? A fleeting image, a touch, and the emotion that will haunt me?"

[Kelly O'Riley]

Sat 18:38 PDT ~But....

....now the dreams could hurt--thats just it. they are tangible, flesh and blood. that phoenix, if it weren't playing, would have burned him. hurt him. glorious fire ball (... dies, in charcoal and ash, reborn.) doesn't he see? now, here, with these eyes--enchanted, passed through the veil of stagnant harsh gated reality , everything is real. Transported to fairy land, maybe--perhaps he's hallucinating, and those could be so dangerous here. Hallucinations could take real form, they could (do) burn. She is awed, awed so simpley, so delighted--like a child. This is the world children still sometimes glimpse, don't you know? This is the world where all is believable--all is believed--and all is real. He could hurt, now. He could be killed, now, by a(....imaginary) sword, or a ghost made of sand, striped blue, with pink tennis shoes and vicious dripping fangs--

--wyrm? No, just.. nightmare. Just a nightmare--nothing to be scared of (--but here, here, oh yes indeed..).

She laughs, laughs so pure--so beautiful, when the serpent streaked of light curls about their feet, only to slither--like a bullet, so fast, like a lazer, trailing glory behind it in rainbow bands of glowing neon light. Not minding his grip, she forms a life-line, doesn't she? She doesn't want him to be real, right now--she wants him to simply... believe.. in this reality, thats all. Just accept--just wish.

Thats all.

She turns, turns to face him again, one elegant brow lifting, quirking up, in lopsided (like the dimple now awakened, in just her right cheek, by a smile). Amused. She puts a hand to his face (so gentle--the kiss of warm summer breezes on the ocean, the western sea's.. untainted.. (--like she is, not yet completely tainted, but so close to falling...). The touch stays, she doesn't let him go, not yet, on his cheek, on his jaw, caress, down his neck. Real. Feel her? Real.~ Everybody is that, I'm simply me--I'm not a what, I'm a me, like all of you--don't deny it, Jarl, just try to relax, go with it--go with the flow, don't fight yourself and be careful everything can hurt here. What are we? You know, don't you? You should know, though most don't.. even we are forgetting.. and even we are not ourselves anymore, do you like riddles?

Come on, where do you want to go? The desert, or the city? When are we leaving for Hawaii? Now? ~Practical? Almost, but.. not really, she simply goes with her mouth--goes with the flow--is the flow, eyes shining (...starlight, radiant brow.) Its not that the world is different, its that its so the same--doesn't he see? See, watch, the same sands he always knew (though places have bands of colors, so awesome, awe inspiring), the same old dark lake (...monsters COULD be there now...). Everything is the same, but everything is possible--and anything could come, not all the time--but yes, all the time. The wind is picking up again, drawing patterns in the sand. She can hear the voices, spirits? Maybe, dreams of spirits, certainly.

...visions...

....sometimes they are flashy, sometimes they are horror--worse then horror, the things that lurk only in ones darkest most horrific terrible nightmares, sometimes things that lurk and feed on the nightmares those who are monsters cry at. sometimes, they are dreams--beyond comprehension, so beautiful, like the Sun. Like Seline, like the moon, the moon so close (...more shapes flitter across the moon, bats, but the bats have riders, unseen now, but hear the singing? words).

....and then, on the other side of the lake--there is the (banal?) sound of motorcyles and drunken riders whooping and hollering as they rip through the peaceful touristy marina... modern-world, and magic.~

[Jarl Thane]

Sat 18:55 PDT She was a lifeline--a tether back to the sane, when he could well be lost forever in this world of (dangerous) madness (beauty) if he simply wandered too far, looked too deep. Even so, he stretches out his free hand, stretches from her touch (enveloping, benevolent) as though he might touch the moon --and maybe he does-- only to have the firebird alight upon it, no more than a flush of heat without mass. Brilliant--so brilliant did it flame, that his eyes could not find individual features upon the creature...or maybe it had no distinct features, was nothing but mischief and blazing, blazing light...

"I don't understand," he murmurs, his eyes turning from the bird-shape to her, "all this--it is real, and yet a dream. It is real because it is a dream." A flash of insight, but it disappears in the next breath, "It is a dream that affects me because it is real...and yet...if I do not see it, it cannot touch me. Right? Or..." It was all so confusing; to understand it was like attempting to understand the cyclic nature of time, or the reason for the tides' movement upon the sea. The moon? But the scientists' inadequate explanation for an urge older than time...inexplicable. "...I don't think I understand. I think--maybe--I shouldn't. I think maybe if I did, I wouldn't see this anymore."

Just accept. Right? It's a dream. It's real. Don't try to make sense of it; each drop of this world you make sense of will disappear, forever.

He draws a breath, turns his wrist to better admire the flaming bird. So many colors...so beautiful... "I'm fine here," he replies. "But if you like, we can go to the city. Or the desert. Or Hawaii? But we will need plane tickets, transportation..." --in the real world they would-- "...won't we?"

[Kelly O'Riley]

Sat 19:18 PDT ....Its like understanding yourself, okay? It probably won't happen for a long long time, no matter how hard you try--and if you try too hard, it isn't going to happen, ya see? I don't understand why everyone has to understand without any chance for new idea's, I don't--well, I do, but only if I try too hard which is confusing even me, and I like being confused, because sometimes thats the best way to be, ya know?

~....she even grins at him, lopsided--dimpling, eyes sparkling (mischievious--but so sad, no no, ignore that, she is).~ Sure, we would need transporation, and are we going through with the wedding here... in Vegas? Do you have to dress up like Elvis? It's easiest, I think, and we could get some money down at one of the casino's or, well, I have a stash down in the cold place--South Vegas, where I sleep sometimes, when I'm in the city.

~Solemnity comes again, earnestness in the shape of pointed chin, heart shaped face, pixie like, elfin, so very fair (translucent.. a mirage.. would she vanish come morning? to return--later), she pauses.~ Rahven? He's a troll, and the serpent is a chimera. Everything you see that you normally wouldn't is chimerical, at least thats what the meat call it.

[Jarl Thane]

Sat 19:31 PDT He nods. "I'm going to stop trying to understand." He favors her with a smile as the (ice) phoenix soars off. "I think I will go insane, should I try too hard. It's a waking dream--you're never expected to understand dreams, so I suppose I'm not expected to understand this, either. How long will I" dream "see like this?"

He brushes at his shirt where the phoenix had gone through him, fingering the faint traceries of (faerie dust) gold and silver upon the worn cotton, and then the smile becomes his easy grin, relaxed and returned. Is there sadness beneath his smile? Is there the remembered (almost buried) pain of...? "I don't think I have to dress like Elvis. I don't think I want to..." his eyes (the sun, liquified and condensed and set into the finely-hewn strength of his face) follow the path of a shooting star as large as a comet across the sky, scattering a shower of silver rain, "...but if you want, we can go through the wedding here. And I have some savings."

Besides, if worst came to worst, he could always call his mother. He wondered what she would think of him now, her son standing in a dreamland with a spirit--a faerie, of all things--to whom he was engaged to be married for all of a day, maybe two.

[Kelly O'Riley]

Sat 20:01 PDT If thats what you want, and you'll see like this for four days. Including this one. ~Such a short time, could anyone bare to leave? What are her thoughts? As she watches her -- ludicrous, fiancee? -- there are thoughts near visable in the glory of her blue glistening eyes (sky-blue, frozen, warm, changing ever--change), and they move so fast he can practically hear them clicking away....

.....she has been still too long--its unnatural (..she is so natural..), and she turns around (....letting him go, fend for himself) walking backwards, head tipped back again, eyes focused on the paneled night sky--so beautiful, an alter of black strewn with diamonds. Diamonds, Suns, Gods, burning Eyes. Black (..so deep--see beyond the universe, into a Forever, into a version of forever)disrupted by the spray of (...over there? was that the moon-moth, no.. something else stirring?) fire sparks from passing comet.

(every child needs a hope)

(...even they...)

.....desert is alive, though so dark it is--there is a dry hiss, which cracks through the air like the slice of a velvet whip, and is followed soon by a serpent with red dotted gold wings (rattle snake?) and another pure, pristine, madonna face--unblinking, serpent, eyes, dark black hair this time. Indian. There are shells, which rattle, crackle.. and it glides so close--but so far, followed by a couple which could be babies (...snakes... and.. wings...).~ And... yes.. I want, here--here is good, and no, its fine. I'll pay, I have enough money hidden around, normally I give it away, though I'm saving some of it up for--well, you'd laugh wouldn't you? Not that I mind laughter, I like it when you laugh--I like it when people laugh, normally, but I want to ...

.... make a pollution killing machine; so that the airplanes won't... so that--its... ~She shrugs (bony? birdwings?) her shoulders and runs her fingers through thick (...beg...) white streaked brown gold (two scalps of hair, but only one scalp to be had) now loosened wavy (....curling....mist...) hair, taming it (as best she can) away from her face. Is she sad? Blase? Neither, really. Hopeful, maybe. So hopeful, wide-eyed wonder, and (fierce--when riled) passion, and song.

.....feathers made of air.....~