pink bleeds gold / and red spills into one's heart
The coming of autumn was like a beautiful, rosy-hued, double edged sword. On the one side, relief from the constant humidity that had been pressing down on Novus like a weighted blanket for the last three months allowed everyone to finally breathe again; on the other, Atlas now woke from his bed of moonflowers with a shiver to his skin. Surely in time the leaves would don their fall coats and fill the air a beautiful rainbow of reds, oranges, pinks, golds, and purples… but for now, everything seemed to be stuck in a bit of limbo, where it was cold in the morning, warm at noon, and cold again when the moon rose.
Atlas was a warm-weather creature at his heart, though he had weathered more than his fair-share of open-skied, freezing desert nights, so while seeing his breath on the air was mildly foreboding, it did little more than instill in him a reminder that he needed to find somewhere else to sleep. Preferably indoors.
Of course, the changing of the seasons brought forth another reason for celebration: there was to be a festival! These people in Novus (he’d been here almost four years, did he not think of himself as such? Not yet?) had a festival for everything! In Zukai it had seemed the upper class lived an endless party, so such celebrations were lacking luster. But in Novus, especially after a season full of such strife and change, the autumnal festival was a welcome break from the mundane.
And what a festival it was! Fire dancing, pie baking, fireworks, and feasting, truly a highlight to bring a smile to all faces. Atlas found himself fascinated with the work of the fire-dancers as they twirled and spun, their double-sided flaming torches splitting and spinning in the air faster than the eye could see. They danced and twirled around each other, moving as if one creature, the fire wreathing out from them in an explosion of color as though heralding the oncoming change of the season.
As he makes his way through the congregations of revelers as they ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the fire dancers, dug their teeth into pies and treats, tossed back pints of cider and fall-spiced ales, and just generally had an old fashioned good time, he found out of the corner of his eye a curious figure, standing some ways away; they were a stark white cut against the soft dark of the night.
Directed by his own intrigue, Atlas broke away from the main throng, coming up alongside the watching stranger, a smile on his face. “Not going to partake?” he questioned, his tone full of mirth and cheer; he watched the clouds of fog roll off her white, smooth skin, but held his tongue, lest he border on impropriety. “I hear if you don’t you’ll have bad luck all winter. Or perhaps it’s if you start and don’t finish.” He grinned. “Luck can be fickle like that.”
Atlas was a warm-weather creature at his heart, though he had weathered more than his fair-share of open-skied, freezing desert nights, so while seeing his breath on the air was mildly foreboding, it did little more than instill in him a reminder that he needed to find somewhere else to sleep. Preferably indoors.
Of course, the changing of the seasons brought forth another reason for celebration: there was to be a festival! These people in Novus (he’d been here almost four years, did he not think of himself as such? Not yet?) had a festival for everything! In Zukai it had seemed the upper class lived an endless party, so such celebrations were lacking luster. But in Novus, especially after a season full of such strife and change, the autumnal festival was a welcome break from the mundane.
And what a festival it was! Fire dancing, pie baking, fireworks, and feasting, truly a highlight to bring a smile to all faces. Atlas found himself fascinated with the work of the fire-dancers as they twirled and spun, their double-sided flaming torches splitting and spinning in the air faster than the eye could see. They danced and twirled around each other, moving as if one creature, the fire wreathing out from them in an explosion of color as though heralding the oncoming change of the season.
As he makes his way through the congregations of revelers as they ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the fire dancers, dug their teeth into pies and treats, tossed back pints of cider and fall-spiced ales, and just generally had an old fashioned good time, he found out of the corner of his eye a curious figure, standing some ways away; they were a stark white cut against the soft dark of the night.
Directed by his own intrigue, Atlas broke away from the main throng, coming up alongside the watching stranger, a smile on his face. “Not going to partake?” he questioned, his tone full of mirth and cheer; he watched the clouds of fog roll off her white, smooth skin, but held his tongue, lest he border on impropriety. “I hear if you don’t you’ll have bad luck all winter. Or perhaps it’s if you start and don’t finish.” He grinned. “Luck can be fickle like that.”
@Below Zero ! "Speech."
