august

—
« “Then he is a monster!" the Prince crowed, "and I must slay him at once. The Formula works!" »

ugust has never been so far from home. 

It took him the better part of a week to reach Delumine, traveling in a caravan with others from the Night Court. After spending the better part of the winter recuperating in a cellar (really more of a cavern, but August still held too much of a grudge to think of it with even that much generosity), it felt good to be in the fresh air, out of the city. Though he’d been at thing of buildings and comforts all his life, there was something about bedding down in the new spring grass beneath the clear stars, something about walking and grazing through dew-silver meadows, that made him think during the trip that they’d gotten it wrong, coming indoors. 

But then he reached the outskirts of Delumine, and bought an ale in an old stone pub, and chalked those thoughts up to open-air fancy. 

Tonight, the first of the festival, he’s spent mostly observing. Near the towering pines he let some children paint his coat in dark green and rust-colored whorls, patterns he can’t quite decipher. He’d overheard someone explain that the festival was for fertility, but he pretended not to have heard. He had, however, allowed a pretty sorrel mare to place a crown of forsythia blooms around his head, like a halo, though the vivid yellow clashed with his more subdued gold. 

So he feels quite festive, as he wanders over to the fires. The horses tending them are just beginning to add the colored powers, and the familiar oranges flare blue and green and purple; for a moment he watches, mesmerized, before walking on. 

When he sees Morrighan, unmistakable despite the wash of unnatural green light over her from the bewitched fire, August considers turning around. Slipping away into the jovial crowd, the crackle of wood and filter of smoke. But he has been a glutton for punishment for a while, now, and mentally steeling himself he strolls over to her, casting a quick glance around the Regent to be sure she didn’t already have her own particular brand of flame lit.

“You must feel at home here, Regent,” he says lightly, and indicates the bonfires all around them. 

some women fear the fire
some simply become it

There had been many times on their way over here that Morrighan almost turned around. The further they got from Denocte, the bigger the pit in her stomach got. She forgot how much bigger the world was out here and just how much she hated that. Denocte felt comfortable and she knew every inch of their Court lands. Out here, anything is possible and that includes all the dangers that could come to Maeve.

Ever since losing her on the island, she's kept a much closer eye on the girl. It seems like for now she doesn't mind too much since it had scared her quite a bit. Morr feels foolish putting her into that situation, but she vows to never set foot on that stupid island again. She'll never understand what magic is at work there, but she's quickly gotten sick of it.

At least here, there are many signs of life versus decay. All you can smell is damp earth, herbs and woodsmoke in the air. She has to admit that Delumine has certainly lived up to the expectations that her daughter set for her. This is the first time she's setting foot here and, at the very least, being surrounded by fire is always comforting. She's already thrown a few packets into the flames and watched the colors change in front of her eyes. It's made her curious if it would work on her own magic and what sort of things she could do with it.

Maeve is off playing, but is within her line of sight. It makes Morr's stomach twist in knots to give her any bit of space so she hopes the girl doesn't take off in a split second. They spent some time moments ago playing with the paints and flowers, so the Regent is looking quite different than usual. On her head is a crown made of fresh orange and yellow flowers (she has no idea what they're called) and Maeve painted different designs all over her body to match. Morr hasn't tried to look at her reflection to see what the damage is, but she can feel paint all over her face. Regardless, it made her daughter happy so that was the important part.

Morr is a bit surprised at the familiar face that walks over and at first, she only raises a brow. Oddly enough, her and August almost match. "Yeah, being covered in flowers and paint really brings me to my happy place," she says, the sarcasm obvious in her tone. She knows he's referring to the fires and, although they're thousands of steps away from Denocte at this point, she supposes it does help her feel more "at home". "Apparently it's a good look for you," she adds, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Morrighan takes another glance at Maeve who is speaking with another boy her age. For a moment she stiffens and moves to go break them up, but she retracts. The girl is too young to be having feelings yet (she'd hope), so maybe it'd be better for her to stay here and let Maeve make some friends. There aren't many her age back home.

"I'm surprised you're walking and not covered in bruises this time. Unless that's what all the paint is for?" Naturally, she can't let him live their last encounter down. He looked like he went through hell and back, maybe even died along the way. At least now maybe he's a little more put together (and with clear loyalties again). Morr isn't sure how she feels about him, but for now he's not terrible company.

"Speaking."