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Messages - Sid

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1
WestEnd / In Memorium - For Those Lost and Still Loved
« on: December 14, 2018, 10:36:27 AM »
It is with great and unending sorrow that I tell you of the demise of Jack Scot's (among many) player.  Sid and Scottie and consequently the players met in 1997.  It was glorious. I will forever miss her.  My heart is breaking.

Be well on your continuing journey, luv.  <3 <3 <3

2
WestEnd / WestEnd IC Description
« on: May 18, 2016, 03:56:53 PM »
This is part of the first posting I made in this folder when Artsblood and I introduced it back in November 2005.  The below was written as an introduction to this little corner of Rhy?Din I wanted to share.

[quote:2a57744b93="Sid"]Silvery light of the half moon illumines the run down WestEnd neighborhood; washing through the bay window of a renovated Brownstone at its center, it falls ghostly across the sprawled occupant of a large wingback chair turned to face the maze-like streets outside.

She sat there, silent; a statue carved of moon-kissed alabaster; dark-threaded eyes of silver true watching all and nothing, while moonlight chased ghosts throughout the shadowed depths of the district and she missed the comfort that came from hearing the even breaths of her sleeping Ebon Knight and Twin Stars on the floors above.

?Interesting little side effect,? comes the thought. Hours away from false dawn, a Cheshire-like grin shines out in the darkness as a single spell lamp flickers on two blocks north at Reynaldo?s Bruised Fruit and Produce (?dented and bent, never abused?). Rey?s youngest, Esme, is beginning the preparations for the coming day; fixing breakfast for her father and brothers so they can get an early start for the Docks to haggle over discarded crates of fruits and vegetables.

All about the Ancient?s homestead the view is similar. Amidst the rubble and disrepair of this neighborhood the disenfranchised, and those that feed upon such, have begun to call this home. Her formerly fairly quiet community is beginning to emit the signs of life. More life than just the vermin who crawl amongst its debris, too, though some of the element drifting in does share a resemblance.

Across town, near the edge of the Warehouse district, five Makos dressed in grey dragon hide had a Club Baby cornered at the back of an alley. Bone jarring bass from the Meandering Rave rained dust from crumbling bricks down on the Club Baby's head.

"Och, real big men. Compensatin' for a few shortcomin's, lads?" That Cheshire grin grew wider in the dark, the tip of a pointed ear twitching beneath eerily quiet elflocks. "Five on one. Hardly fair, m'boyos."

Normally, she let nature take its course, but the Makos have been a particular pain in her arse since the gang made WestEnd their home base. Front-runners for a real piece of work she'd yet to learn the name of, this mixed species group of mid-level adepts took pride in head bashing, murder, extortion and a "lovely" little sport they called Rabbit and Hounds. Apparently, the Club Baby was their latest Rabbit.

If the Makos had left well enough alone, she would have continued to see them as just another group of useless flesh bags and let them go about their business; destruction is a part of creation, a part of nature. But, they went and yotzed her off.

By some fluke that she is currently attributing to the side effect of her last dabblings, one of the Makos tailed her as she decloaked inside the neighborhood one night returning home from the Red Dragon Inn. He followed her to the 'stone, and the next day while she and the bairns played in back beneath the Nesting tree a message carrying brick nearly hit her daughter. With one icy smile from the Ancient, the sender of that brick was able to taste his own liver just before the ground opened and swallowed him whole.

Since that time, the Ancient has played her own version of the Makos' game.

Silver eyes blanket in black and the grin grows cold, an image rises darker against the shadows of an alley across town. Sensitive ears twitch with the Club Baby's screaming, and one short nail scratches five lines next to others at the edge of her chair's right arm.

The Bell Tower rings thirteen out across the WestEnd night. Her smile warming, she rises, stretches and turns to head upstairs. Pausing at the second floor landing, she looks out the bay window as an annoying pounding resounds at her front door.[/quote]

3
Blood House Onyx / Re: ((Talk To Us OOC Here))
« on: April 26, 2015, 12:28:34 AM »
[quote:81815b06ea="VikiChylde"]Just saying hi!  Miss you guys![/quote]

Ooooohh!! It's a Viki!! Hey, sweet! Congratulations on great life stuff happening (yes, I keep up albeit quietly)! Miss you, Lady. Miss your writing, and playing together. Sid really misses her Shimmer. ::Smiles.:: Hope we might get to see you around someday soonest. ::Hugs!::

[quote:81815b06ea="LdyBelial"]Edward has a huge backstory, but I am uncertain whether to even bother to tell it. So I ask those who read us - do you want to know more about Edward?[/quote]

PleasePleasePlease! And Hells yes!

[quote:81815b06ea="Ebon Ilnaren"]Backstory is always interesting! (At least I hope it is, 'cause that's what I've been doing lately myself....)[/quote]

Yes! Ebon backstory! Binge reading commencing now!

4
Blood House Onyx / Re: ((Talk To Us OOC Here))
« on: February 13, 2015, 12:08:13 AM »
::Glomps onto the Lan!!:: Sid is itching to be let loose as is Sun! Looking forward to some true Evil Plots, luvvie!

Currently, Sid is languishing this Winter in Summer, at the court of the Lands of Ghosts and Shadows (you know how much she enjoys court ::Sarcasm.:: ). The twins are being trotted out and displayed sporadically (Sid would keep them locked down if she could), much to their dismay and annoyance (Sid blames them not one whit), though Hawk has had attentions thrown to him left and right. Between you and me and the fence post, Sid is all for getting them the hell out of there as at their age (15? as of the 2nd of January) there are too many parents jockeying for their hands in arranged marriages! (The nerve!) That, and the attentions are too much, bound to get noticed by those unwanted, if they haven't been already. Time to shore up the protections Da!! ::Cues the Jack player and then glomps onto him as well!::

Whee... !

5
WestEnd / Re: Thanks and Praise!! Comments? Questions? Critiques?
« on: October 11, 2014, 11:59:39 PM »
[quote:bd89a55956="Jack Scot"][quote:bd89a55956="Sinjin Fai"]ps: i've been away for like two years and i still love reading scottie/sid stuff that gets posted here. <3[/quote]

Thanks! Sid is so groovy. She makes it easy. :)[/quote]

Thank you, Sinjin-player! The Crow and his Moon are entities unto themselves most times, I think. Sid is groovy, as is her mate! ::PounceHuggles Jack's player.::

6
WestEnd / WestEnd Brownstone
« on: October 10, 2014, 08:11:27 AM »
Sid:
The Ancient had been back and forth between Rhy'Din and the lands of Ghosts and Shadows - an easier jump point to the rest of the Elflands since Ber had effectively "closed borders" - Bordertown, and all points West over the last few weeks since She had dared to show Her face at the Red Dragon Inn. Storms nestled in those glamoured blue eyes these days and oft darkened the skies when she was about.

Today, however, the skies above WestEnd showed forth a bright if not watery sunlight and the air was crisp and chilled. Baby was snug against the side of the 'stone and the Nesting Tree out back shivered its leaves in the slight breeze. But, where was the Ancient?

Jack Scot:
The Crow stayed more in Rhy?Din, seeing to their children and their development. It was good to get them out of Faerie, he finally decided, succumbed, relented. They still mystified him with their attitudes, at once grown up and child like. How could he fathom it? But today, after days of feeling out of sorts and steps behind, the Crow sought out his Manon -- when did he not, really? Always moon gazing our Jack.

Sought her out for clarity. The autumn breeze picked up his ribbons as he rounded the corner to find Baby against the bricks. Manon was not there.

He continued to the back to find the Nesting tree still stingy with her leaves. Not willing to give them up to Autumn's eventuality. Manon was not there.

"Come out. Come out," the Crow called in a sing song caw.

Sid:
At the tiptop of the Tree, which had grown leaps and bounds since its sapling days, there appears a pale glow. Had the moon risen early to fight the sun for the sky?

Branches sway with the movement of some apparently slight creature amidst its boughs. A clear ringle resounds across the yard, and from up above comes a nightingale's calling song.

Jack Scot:
The song catches his breath and draws his starry gaze upward to find the glow amongst the leaves, now of shadow. He stares, head tilted like the bird he resembled, twisted on his neck. "Come closer, my sweetest of sweets."

Sid:
A slither and slide, branches barely registering the motion, she finally appears upon a low branch. "Lookin' for me, m'Jack?" A fine-boned hand stretching forth to him.

Jack Scot:
He smiles his Coyote smile and reaches for her hand, which seems delicate but the Crow knows the strength in it. In her entirety. He grasped it firm in his dusky fingers and if she pulled, he would join her amongst the leaves. If not, he would draw down the Moon into his ribboned arms...

"Found you, Springtime girl."

Sid:
The Moon falls, knowing instinctively she would be caught fast. "I feel Spring be lon' an' lon' from us." Her body slinks down his until her feet light upon the sparse blades beneath their Tree, arms circling his waist as she pulls him dearly close as if she might just fade from view.

"Winter feels too close."

Jack Scot:
"And soon will pass, my Forever." He held her too tight to allow his Manon to fade away. "We will sleep and wake to warm rain and crocuses."

Sid:
Fingers trail into that dark hair, pulling his head to hers. Face to face with but a breath between them she stares into his starry depths and allows herself a moment to just Be.

It is a stolen moment. A long stretch that fills her, that grounds her, as all about them move along their paths and the clocks tick ever onward.

Jack Scot:
His star gaze is vast and deep; a universe within it and the brightest, most luminescent spot inside that her own. Her very own. The center of all things. There is no time. No space. Only the two locked in embrace. The breath of Dreams drifts tender along her lips.

Sid:
Within that spot of stolen time, she breathes. Deep, full breaths syncing up with his own. The Dreams pull her inward, and thought-to-thought she "speaks". Her mindvoice a soft, delusive power that echoes down the stream of time. "Sometimes somethin' hits me. Sometimes I jus' wan' to stay here. Stay with ye in this spot I dun know, yet do. Do ye e'er wonder where we be when we be here, m'Jack?

"Do ye e'er wonder how we get to this spot?"
It isn't a place as such a thing is known; spot is how she has come to define it in her thoughts. Had she always known this, had they always been able to come to here, or had this started after the Spell and the making of the Triumverate? At times she begs whoever listens to one such as she to allow her to remember, but there have been no answers yet.

Jack Scot:
He dares not close his eyes for fear they would leave this place. Sanctuary. Their very own. "It is the beginning," his voice weaves with hers, twining as it always has. She the Light. He the Dark. "It is the deep breath before the bang."

Or was it we bang? One hell of a shag no matter what, that gives birth to a universe.

Sid:
"I be wishin' 'twere an answer I can ken, one tha' wraps within me thoughts an' makes sense. At times, especially here, I be thinkin' I can almos' be seein' an' feelin' those swiss cheese holes as ye be callin' our memories.

"Why be it, Jack, tha' we can know so much about other thin's, but 'tis our own selves tha' give such consternation?"
Well, that and their bairns for the Ancient understands their adolescents about as much as her mate.

Jack Scot:
"It is the best I can do, Manon. I reach for an answer. I feel it there. There is nothing grasp. I wonder if we have done this to ourselves." One hand lifts to push into the elflocks and linger there. What sound does her bells make?

Sid:
Star song floats; its notes might fairly be visible. Her head leans easily within his hand, and there are worlds that birth in a smile that he can feel. "Aye, m'Dreamer. 'Tis somethin' I oft wonder. An' there be nae reproach in me words, ye answers ye find be wha' they be.

"There be... thin's I be thinkin'. Nae... feelin' o' late. The sense I once be 'avin' seems los' to me these days. Do ye ken?"


Jack Scot:
"I ken. I do." He answers long after she asks. The song catches him first and carries him amongst the hot gasses that will become burgeoning stars. "What do you remember?"

Sid:
Those stars are born and finally, gloriously die only to regroup to birth more of their kind when she breathes the answer into his palm. "I remember... darkness. Nae. 'Tis nae right, tha'. A... well, a nae thin'. An' yet still somethin'."

Laughter crackles, setting hot gasses aflame. "I 'ave los' me sense, I tol' ye."

Jack Scot:
"No. No, Manon. I do not believe you have lost your wits. They are misplaced," he grins, cunning and sly. He lowers that star gaze to kiss her, a long and slow journey that brings her back to the Here and Now.

Sid:
Blue bottles of fae magic still dangle in the Tree's boughs; the chilled autumn winds ringling elflocks to echo those tinkling vessels. His words bring remembrance to eyes of silver true, and a sigh as she leans against him.

"Fractured," she whispers warm along his neck.

Jack Scot:
"Growing," he says against her sensitive ear.

Those blue bottles meant to capture spirits who wished them ill. He has not checked them in years and years for their enemies, he knows now, cannot be captured thus. Such a naive Crow he was back then.

Sid:
"Mayhaps." She twists in his arms, pressing her back along his front and drawing his arms tight about her; head tilting to his shoulder so she looks up into his star-swirled gaze. "Tha' sounds a sight better'n broken," she grins all fox light and mischief.

Jack Scot:
He kisses her again because a look as acute and wily as that begs for one. He holds her close and marvels at the fit of her to him. Each made for the other. His hands splay over her stomach and breast.

Sid:
A press of a kiss to the slope of his neck, nestling in to the trueness of them, fingers lacing with his own. "How be Gemethyst, m'love? Be her growin' time goin' well?"

Jack Scot:
"She has learned what to eat that makes our bairn happy. She carries a girl." He whispers in Manon's ear and then nuzzles there at her jaw. "She is troubled despite. I treated her unkindly and then, after all was made right, her past comes to haunt her. But she is strong, my Manon. As you well know."

Sid:
"A sister," smiling at the thought and his nuzzles, but his next words fade its view like a cloud across the moon. "Ye did wha'? When? Wha' did ye say to her?" Wheeling about in the circle of his arms to give him an accusing look, slanted eyes narrowing.

Jack Scot:
He steps back, hands up to defend or show he has nothing but ribbons. He grins but there's oomph behind it. "T'was when one of my murder was killed. My heart hurt. I did not like it. I wanted to hurt elsewhere so, I let her don my coat. I let her feel what it is like beneath it." It was a cruel thing for him to do. He knows it. Paid for it. "I wanted her to hurt me. Maybe stab me with a dagger. It did not happen as I planned."

Sid:
There are so many things she wants to say to this she cannot fathom where to start. It is as if suddenly a wall or wave of thoughts, emotions, and feelings come crashing onto a shoreline. How do mortals sort through all this flotsam! Her mouth opens and closes several times. Lips tighten. She grunts.

She thwaps him!

At that moment it works, it is deemed an appropriate response.

Jack Scot:
"Ow!" She thwaps hard! "Gods, woman. I paid for the mistake. I had Darrrk beat the piss out of me. Broke my wings and then near kissed Gemethyst's feet the next day." He grins at his tall drink of water while rubbing where she smacked him.

Sid:
This admission does nothing to help. Those eyes widen 'til almost round, her mouth opens and remains so, and she just shakes her head slowly while looking at him as if he's grown a second head.

She thwaps him again in the same place, huffs and then turns away crossing slender arms across her stomach and tapping a booted toe.

Jack Scot:
"What? Ow!" His starry eyes grow wide. "Manon?" He pleads, not knowing now what offense he causes.

Sid:
Arms flap out wildly as she spins back to face him. Uncharacteristic for her, words come in flustered and staccato speech. "Wearin' coat! Stab ye? Wings broke! Beatin'? Hurt her!" There is a heat to pallid flesh, but whether it is anger for his actions or frustration at suddenly being rendered senseless and speechless one would find it hard to say.

Jack Scot:
He reaches for her shoulders and gives her a little shake. "Manon, you are not the only one changing."

Sid:
She thwaps him again, then shoulders release tension beneath his hands. "Still, ye hurt her. She be in the growin' an' ye hurt her. Where be ye mind, Jack?" Nostrils flare and the tip of her nose reddens as a crease forms upon faultless flesh between spun silver brows.

Jack Scot:
"I did. I did hurt her, Manon." He bears the latest hit in silence. "I was wrong. I do not have an excuse except I never felt like that before. It is not an excuse."

Sid:
"Oh, m'Jack!" And she grabs, pulling him in tightly to wrap him in warmth and love. "I ken this feelin'. I get it, as they be sayin'. I jus'..." Hands slide outward across his back until her hands hold gently to his arms so she can look into his center. "I jus' be... worried be nae right...

"Frell!"
she stomps her foot, her head hanging. "I canna find it," lifting her head to look back into his eyes. "But do ye understan' wha' I be tryin' to get at?"

Jack Scot:
"Gods, Manon, I do. Do you see? We are different from the rest. We are Fae but more than. We are learning, adapting. Changing." It is unheard, change in Faerie. Mired as it is in traditions and games designed to keep the long lived occupied. "For the better." Once again, she is wrapped in his arms; ribbons cascade around her and his mouth at her ear whispers sedition. "Change everything for the better."

Sid:
"I know where tha' be leadin'," fox lit grin in place as she pulls back enough to slip a heated kiss upon his lips. "An' whilst I dun disagree about the changin' an' learnin' part, an' I hold hope it truly be for better, I be nae goin' down this road ye wish to point me toward, Jack. Nae now.

"I be knowin' how ye see him, m'love. I canna say I be holdin' any blame to ye for seein' him such. Can we jus' agree, for now, tha' I know parts o' him ye 'ave yet to know?"
Long fingers drift backwards along a dusky temple and into crow-dark hair. She will not deny her Crow's ideas are, for the most part, sound but she refuses to believe there cannot be some other way to get to there from here.

Jack Scot:
Hot kisses warm many things. Even when discussing enemies, Jack has no real protection, and wants none, from his Manon's wiles. "I do not require his destruction. This is something everyone assumes. I am willing to deal, to reach an accord. But if he is not, Manon, I will press."

Sid:
Eyes of silver true turn molten and smolder, thin lips a sultry smile. "I love ye beyond it all, m'Jack. So, I will but suggest tha' ye mayhaps want to dial it back a bit here an' there on ye appearin' to paint him with such a villainous brush.

"I willna deny tha' I also be 'avin' me clashes with how he be goin' about doin' some o' the thin's he has done, but would ye be surprised to learn tha' mayhaps ye an' he 'ave the same ultimate goal?"


Jack Scot:
"I would be surprised," he answers with a narrowing of his eyes. There is no hiding he seeks the promise in her smile. It will not deflect him even as he grinds his hips against hers. "What is this ultimate goal."

Sid:
Turning them as one her back presses up along the Tree's trunk, her left leg lifting to curl about his lower thigh and knee. "He wishes our children to flourish, to thrive not stagnate. He seeks protection for that which we keep close an? guard. An? for those he regards the closest to him, he wants only the best."

She snugs him in tighter, sliding that leg upwards until it rests against his hip. "Ye needs speak together, but I still suggest ye nae go into the conversation believin' he be the end all an' be all o' the ills ye seek to rectify.

"Ye 'ave common ground. Canna ye work from tha'? Do ye be thinkin' fingerin' blame be gettin' ye anythin' exceptin' strife, Jack?"


Jack Scot:
"I am not closest to him." Jack can count on one hand how many times the Oberon has ever spoken to him. "Never once did he ask or seek my counsel on what is best for ours. He changed you, Manon, with little thought on how it would affect you. Affect me. Affect our children. He is the Oberon. He cannot change. He does not have our interest in mind." He cups her pale cheeks with his hands and holds her there against their Nesting tree. "I will parley. I will listen. I will deal. But Faerie is Stagnant. Faerie is festering from within. I cannot give that as a legacy to our children."

Sid:
"Aye, ye be," but she lets that sit, her arms rising to encircle his neck and her body lifting to his arms. "Again, I dun deny I 'ave oft nae always approved o' his methods. An', I be first one to say he keeps his counsel close to the vest, doin' wha' he deems necessary with nary a mention to a single soul. These be nae good thin's. Ye 'ave a right to be angered about many past grievances, mos' especially the spell.

"But, m'love..."
Fingers filter in and out of the fine hairs along the nape of his neck, tease down the slope of it to trail along his spine as she pulls herself closer still. "will ye allow tha' mayhaps there be a method to his madness? Tha' mayhaps he does 'ave similar intentions to yer own?"

Jack Scot:
He does not understand how she could argue he was close to the Oberon's heart. There is no indication at all and all the evidence to the counter. His hand slides possessively from her raised knee to slender hip. Fingers curl around her ass and hitch her close. He nuzzles lips at her neck and breathes there. Just breathes. "I am ever open now, Manon. I hid not my intentions or my methods. Can he say the same? How can our goals be similar? He does not seek change."

Sid:
Burying her face to his neck, heated flutter kisses build to a nip at the shell of his ear. "Ye canna confuse the goal with the manner it be reached. Do I champion his ways an' means? Nae. But Ber does nae want stagnation anymore than ye an' I. There be nae a thin' but death to follow such a thin'.

"Jack..."
Calves cross to lift her to a seat, the flames he's been fanning to fevered pitch evident as her hips grind there just so to keep her balance. Hands caress a silken touch upon stubbled cheeks as she holds his face to hers. "Ye dun wan' to hear this, but ye an' Ber be more alike than o' a difference."

Taut muscles in her thighs loosen their grip and she hitches downwards just enough, legs curling in tighter to make her point, as her grin grows cunning. "I will accept tha' ye will parley and listen with fair intent, as ye 'ave said to me. For now, I wish nae to talk about this any longer. There be only one thin' on me mind right now."

Jack Scot:
She is correct. He does not want to hear that. Especially when her point is made a tease to his need. Does she wish to remind the Crow that the Oberon has taken his Manon? Covets her still?

He growls against her paper-thin skin and opens his mouth wide. Canid teeth scrape the pulse in her neck and bite as he pins her hard against the tree. "You are mine."

Sid:
She revels in this part of Jack, the rawness of being his manner possesses. It fascinates even as it has, at times, been cause for her concern in its ferocity. The Ancient has never held doubts to the power that stirs inside her Crow. There may be no name she can give it, no clue as to its origin, but she can feel the enormity of what lies within.

Tilting her head back, hands pull him tighter against her neck. Her voice throaty with want and need, "Who owns the Moon but the Dreamer?"

Jack Scot:
The weight of Time. The presence of Knowledge. He bites. And bites again and suckles there. He tastes her blood and leaves his mark. "No one owns the Moon." A paradox uttered as he tears away her shirt with sudden talons.

Sid:
It is suddenly Summer. No longer solid ground beneath their feet, the Crow and his Moon have winked away. The bowers of Summer are theirs and no cloth stands in his way as she pulls him to her into the swaying tangle that belongs to them alone. Eyes of silver true look up into that dusky face with feathered brow, her smile a moonbeam's kiss. "There be nae Moon without its Dreamer, but does the Dreamer still dream without his Moon?"

Jack Scot:
Nothing between them but feathers and skin. The Crow wears only his great wings now tightly folded against his back. Twin stars now blaze in his eyes that can only drink in the sight of the Moon. Hands easily part her creamy thighs. Tongue laps where he marked her and blazes a trail down. "He cannot dream without his Moon. He cannot be," he speaks against a silken breast.

Sid:
"Then..." Easily shifting their weight, she rolls to sit atop him. Spider silk hair cascades around their forms, sliding coolly over skin and feathers with her lean forward. Lips against his own she breathes into the kiss, "mayhaps they be..." Rising up on her knees mischief lights that wily gaze. "as but one." Lips and hips meet in fiery embrace and the moon howls.

7
WestEnd / Re: Thanks and Praise!! Comments? Questions? Critiques?
« on: August 07, 2014, 08:12:18 AM »
[quote:0d5ffa3f2b="JewellRavenlock"][quote:0d5ffa3f2b="Necromesh"]And thanks for, you know, creating a little slice of slightly more dilapidated B-town for us to run around in. For real. It's my favorite place in Rhy'din! Easily.[/quote]

Which leads to the question.. when are we bringing in our own versions of Tick Tick and Orient?[/quote]

Halloooo!!

First off, you are more than welcome Skid-player! I have been gone from writing and RP too long. I really want to work up some more stories dealing with the denizens and locations unique to WestEnd. I created this place because it was my homage to B-Town without necessarily being fanfic. As a shared world, aspects of my favorite place, Bordertown, just seemed to be a natural fit with Rhy'Din, at least in my mind.

As for Tick Tick and Orient, Jewell? No reason someone's own creation of two similar personalities can't find their way (or already be here) into WestEnd. Maybe the Psychic Deli would be a great place for them to live and work?

As always, have fun with this place. It is why I made it and why I wanted to share certain portions and people in all our stories, not just mine. Very soon I am going to work up the specifics on another spot I use, Dickie's Dirk & Dagger! It exists just off WestEnd on the Dockside that borders and is a favorite haunt of The Evening Shroud's Physhra Pink.

Much Magic!

8
WestEnd / Under the Nesting Tree
« on: August 02, 2014, 11:27:53 PM »
Jack Scot:
It was a summer day in the WestEnd; where all things and manner of folk went to get lost, or discover all things or themselves. At its heart was a well-maintained brownstone; once newly renovated, now weathered but repaired. In the back, a small scrap of grass fenced in from the rest and dominated by a large silvery tree that had grown from sapling to stately in the years since its planting.

Beneath the tree, wearing ubiquitous ribbons, sits a scarecrow cross-legged stringing silvery beads along a long, long length of hemp thread.

Sid:
It was hot! No, it was sweltering! The watery sun that filters into WestEnd did nothing to stem the heat of the day. Out on the side of the 'stone the sound of splashing water was just coming to an end and the Trueblood, drenched, creaks the back gate open to head towards the kitchen door when she spies her Crow (he would always be her Crow no matter what guise he currently sported).

"Wha' be ye doin', m'love?" stepping up behind him and bending to peer over his shoulder.

Jack Scot:
"Beautiful Joy wants lights in the tree," he answers. He tries hard to keep the task at hand in focus, a distraction from Manon's mere presence. Such a beacon. So bright. So captivating. So... wet. "Gah! Why are you dripping on me?"

Everything forgotten, he leans away from water.

Sid:
It was a sound reserved solely for him, the giggle escaping as she shakes her head; elflocks bright and clear in their ringling while water and tiny soap bubbles rain all over her Ebon Knight. "Lights? Tha' shall be loverly." Another shake and then she falls, flipping over his back and landing like a leaf - a wet and soggy leaf - right into his lap atop his delicate work. "Ha!"

"I always be thinkin' ye preferred me... wet."
Fox light and silver true shining up into his star-swirled gaze.

Jack Scot:
"You know, I do," he growls. His face was an interesting cross between alarm, consternation, greed and utter want. He drops the beads and thread, and wrapped his damp arms around her. Where she leaned, the colorful ribbons turned dark. "Why is everyone determined to get me wet?"

Sid:
"Baby be needin' a bath," as way of explanation though not necessarily apology. Pale arms wrap about his neck and she checks to see the beads and thread have not gotten lost. She is tricksy, not cruel. "So, lights. I be takin' it they be back from tha' gatherin' they be so excited by? Or, tha' Joy be excited by an' Brian be... well, Brian-y about?" Snickering a touch at that, their boy was less than bright and joyful despite his coloring.

Jack Scot:
He nuzzles his mouth against her cheek and kissed down her jaw. "They are returned and safe."

There is a ?but? in there, but he lets it stand. There was Manon's mouth to kiss and lips to taste.

Sid:
Turning her head she captures his mouth with her own, the need for him a high flush over the entirety of pallid flesh. She wanted to devour him, call a mist to hide them or spirit them away to their bower in Summer. Right. Bloody. Now! About them the air cools slightly, white and fluffy clouds filling the skies and descending over the small yard and their tree. Yet... "Wha'?" Pulling back reluctantly, hands to Jack's shoulders, she narrows slanted eyes on the Coyote. "Go on, be tellin' me the rest. I know there be more. Ye canna stall me, Jack. Somethin' be happening, aye? Be they in danger?"

Jack Scot:
He feigns innocence, which is hard to do with the Moon in his lap and what that did to him. It would be hard for her to miss. "They are not in danger," he rumbles. "Not imminent danger, but Joy found a note in her bag after they returned."

Manon might notice, also, that where his ribbons were missing, they have returned!

Sid:
"Jack!" Hands clench in the newly returned ribbons at his chest, there is a grinding noise as jaw muscles tighten and flex, low-hanging clouds above their tiny yard grow darker and a grumbling begins in the east before Sid closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath?

Or twelve.

Jack Scot:
"Be at ease, Manon. I have not allowed the children out of the brownstone. They are safe." He winces. She had a tight hold of those freshly minted ribbons, so bright and shiny against the rest.

Sid:
"A'right. I be ready. Tell me. Wha' be this note she be findin'?" It was hard to just ignore the danger looming from too many directions to count. Still, the bairns were well looked after both physically and magically, and long ago her and her mate had agreed that locking them away in a tower somewhere would never be the answer for them as parents. For the Ancient, with all that rests in her past, this was by far one of the most challenging compromises she thought she had ever made.

Her hands leave their clench and she whacks him slight across the chest. "An' dun be tellin' me to be at ease!"

Jack Scot:
"And why should you not be? When I am not with them, Lirenel is. When he is not, there is Faye." He winces again. She could smack hard. Faye, the nanny who grew older with them and into power neither Fae had expected. "She found the note in her bag. Someone, we don't who yet, placed it there sometime during her visit to Bordertown."

"The note read: ?Summer Princess: you and your Princely brother are easy to find. If you want to stay safe, your guardian must go to The Dreaming Tree and must not bring The Crow.?"


Sid:
Had She gotten to them? Things were comparatively stagnant here in Rhy'Din, Her shade unable to manipulate as it had before. Yet, in the 'Lands there was strife and skirmish from her factions. Had She somehow gotten across the veil into Bordertown to find them there? No! Deep breaths, Sid. Deep breaths... "Wait... Lirenel? Who e'er this be, be wantin' to meet Lirenel? This could be some ploy to get the bairns alone, to leave them defenseless. Bordertown be nae like here, nae like the 'Lands an'..." she was off on a tangent and the storms begin to tarnish those silver trues.

Jack Scot:
"Lirenel has not gone yet to the tree. Do you know it, Manon? I do." He cups her face in his long-fingered hands and forces her to look into his star-filled eyes.

Sid:
"I..." More deep breaths. She had taken lately to a meditative form trying to quiet still nascent powers emerging due to the spellcasting so long back. Did it help much? No. But she was trying!

Opening her eyes the storms break and leave her staring hard with silver bright to crow-dark. "I do know. But, Jack! Ye 'ave nae been about where I 'ave. Ye 'ave nae seen nor heard wha' I be seein' an' hearin'. Bordertown be so close, She could 'ave..." And we were off again!

Jack Scot:
"He has not left them. We have not left them and if need be, I will move them back to Summer. Do you see? They are safe." He kissed her, hot and searing. Above them, crows roosted in the trees. "I will not bend the knee to her in Summer or here. I am not even certain this threat comes from her."

Sid:
His kisses were like balm, soothing and an anchor to ground the high-tempered and oft volatile nature of the Ancient. She breathes through the kiss, lets it fill her to capacity with their love and bond. For the barest of moments all falls away and the scents of Summer rise around them. Quietly against his lips, "Aye, m'Dreamer."

"But, Jack..."
Pulling away with a pain that is palpable in her chest and eyes for the breaking of that moment. "We canna be certain 'tis nae Her, nae some agent sent. An' as for bringin' them back to Summer..." she sighs. "Be ye seein' the life they be shinin' with since returnin' here? Remember wha' they be like as li'l ones; tha' spark be back. Well, at least in our daughter." A tsk at those words; Sid feared in adolescence their boy-child would forever be brooding and sullen.

Jack Scot:
He rubs his hands down her slim shoulders and arms, ducking his head to make sure she still saw his starfield eyes. "I would rather see them chafe than see the spark die completely. But, that need not happen yet. I will go with Lirenel to meet this threat."

Sid:
"An' though the note be tellin' ye nae to do so? Be ye thinkin' they be nae knowin' if'n ye do?"

Jack Scot:
"I think I know how to hide myself. Don't you?" His smile coyote sly. "I will not let Lirenel walk into a trap."

Sid:
"Nae, o' course nae. An' aye, I know ye be skilled at keepin' hid. I jus'..." No, she was going to trust. She was going to remain calm; calm and cool and collected. That is until there was even an inkling of something that needed gettin' dead! Most of her wasn't positive that something did not need gettin' dead right now, but Jack was there and his touch was warm. That coyote smile brings a grin to thin lips and she nods, her head bowing to rest against his brow. "We mus' keep Lirenel safe, as well."

Jack Scot:
"There's my girl," he murmurs; finding his fingers gently combing through her elflocks. He loved to hear the bells chime. Their daughter's bells a perfect harmony to his Manon's. "We must. I cannot... will not lose him. Will you watch over our bairns while I go with him?"

As if he needed to ask.

Sid:
Absent fifty silver bells and nine chime broken crystal against river stone. "Jack, I..." No, he is right. Every fiber of her being ached to leave the bairns with Faye in order to back up Jack and Lirenel, but her mate was right. Gods! Unclenching her jaw, she nods. "Aye... Aye." The words have to be nearly forced from her throat, but she manages. "Ye go. Keep Lir safe an' ye stay safe. Dun underestimate Her."

Jack Scot:
He strokes her raw throat with his fingertips, fascinated in the thin skin there and its silken feel. She was still damp, and her bells did not ring true. But they would, forever and a day. "She underestimates me, Manon. We will have vengeance. I vow." A Faerie promise, a small knot tangling itself in his cornstubble hair. He dives in to scrape his teeth against her throat.

Sid:
Sid leans into that touch, arcs her neck to the flow of his fingers and shifts to let impossibly long legs slide to either side of their seated forms. She brings her hips to his with a sharp thrust and audible moan. "I wan' much more'n mere vengeance, Jack." Within the secret of the tiny yard her countenance turns ice, and all becomes death and quiet for the single beat of a mortal's heart. "I will 'ave Her end."

Thunderheads roll, and somewhere in some distant world lava erupts with Vesuvius ferocity.

Jack Scot:
He shivers and the ribbons sigh their secrets. They and Jack did not like the cold. Never since that First Winter. He would ever strive to keep those snows at bay. "You may have her death, my Moon. She is but a step stone," he growled against her chilled skin.

Sid:
At times the Ancient can be a dangerous and terrible beauty. Invisible bells ringle icily before the sun breaks and she nods. Smiling soft up into crow-dark depths fingertips trail gently along Jack's stubbled cheek. "I love ye more'n such a word conveys, m'Dreamer. 'Tis ye an' I. Fore'er an' a year an' a day. Now, shall we be lettin' the bairns off they groundin' afore Brian fries me with tha' broodin' stare o' his o'er lunch. I canna be standin' it much more." Before I slap it off his face for good, is left unspoken.

Jack Scot:
"If you think it safe and watch over them, then aye. I know it is not fair to them to be shackled to our burdens." He loses himself for a moment in her smile. His Manon, their love forever and a day. "I do not think the news will change his stare, m'love."

Sid:
She sighs, but it is mirth-filled and her smile is fox-lit. Their twins, truly two sides of the same coin; Beautiful Joy, dark of coloring and bright of spirit where her brother was light of coloring and gloomy of spirit. Sid tries not to indulge the internal demons that tell her he received not only her silver but also her tendency and wont to travel the darkness in his core. Still, there was a time when she was bright and glowing; when her essence brought Joy and Beauty, and called the soul to Dance.

Hands cup her Dreamer's face and she bends her head to his for the lightest of touches. Sometimes when she looks deep within that star-swirled gaze, when he holds her just so and soothes the past away she can almost remember what that was like.

"Nae, it willna probably do the leastest bit o' good, ye be right. Still, aye, I think 'tis safe enough to allow them some freedom whilst here. I know tha' Beauty be chompin' at the bit to get down to the Marketplace. Some bits an' bobs she be wantin' to plaster o'er her walls some more." Sid chuckles all honey-dark and whiskey warmth. "Tha' daughter o' ours be too much like her Crow Da. Mayhaps e'en a bit o' Magpie in there, aye?"

Jack Scot:
It was part of his life's work to help her remember those times. Bright for her, the Spring of the worlds. Dim for him, for he came later. "Brighter than me, I say. She blinds me as does her mother. It is a wonder I do not fly into walls."

Sid:
"Aye, but her brother tempers tha' blindin' light. An' I be swearin' if'n they dun stop bickerin' I be chainin' them both to walls in a dungeon! I be buildin' tha' dungeon jus' to 'ave the walls to chain them upon!" Fingers ruffle-run into shaggy hair and her breath is sweet laughter against his cheek. For all of her darkness, this family she has struggled so hard to keep solid about her does indeed bring out the Joy she holds sway over. "Now, shall I be makin' us all some lunch?"

Manon. Cooking. Hmmm...

Jack Scot:
He arches a brow. Manon, cooking? Lately Faye had been cooking. "I could do with something," he says carefully.

Sid:
"Sandwiches?" It was safest that way, and she could make a mean roast beef po-boy! "Methinks we allow the twins to come to the table an' then ye can be tellin? them they be off they groundin', aye?"

Jack Scot:
"Me? Why not you?" He would eat the roast beast, if he ate at all. He hadn't much of an appetite in Rhy?Din this time around.

Sid:
"I 'ave been thinkin' mayhaps o'... well, bein' in Rhy'din again... Mayhaps a bit o' true coin o' the realm be a good thin'? Mayhaps Panther be givin' me the ol' position back? Wha' say ye?"

"Ye be the one wha' be groundin' them!"
Sid was terrible at being the reasonable parent when it came to setting boundaries or loosing them.

Jack Scot:
"You want to work again?" They had coin. It was faerie gold, sure. Maybe the kids could get jobs. Hmm.

"I...I don't want to work again." He remembered when they were poor and she worked in the tavern. He copied manuscripts. Some of the ink still remained in the whorls of his fingers.

Sid:
"I be knowin' it be nae like I 'ave to work..." He was King of the Lands of Ghosts and Shadows, after all. Which, of course, made her Queen. She would never be used to that; she always hated Court. "Still, 'tis a gran' place to keep eye watch an' ears to the ground."

The deep breath pushes her slight assets tight against his chest. "Jack, again thin's be upon us. We dun ask for this, but it comes e'er the same. We canna fight wha' swirls around us unbidden. It be part an' parcel o' who an' wha' we be. An', for good or ill, it be part an' parcel o' our bairns. Somethin' be brewin' large on the horizon. Ye know this, I be knowin' this. The time for wanderin', for flyin' from the disaster be o'er. Dun ye be thinkin' as well?"

She grins, all fox sly and tricksy. It may not happen often, the old ways are rooted deep and she ? they ? may never be free of their pull, but there are times the Moon can indeed be reasonable.

Jack Scot:
"Oh, Manon, I agree. Change is coming. And we will determine what that change is."

Sid:
"An' nae a one be sayin? ye be 'avin' to work. Ye can be a... wha' be they callin' it? A house husband?" She hides the cackle in the slope of his neck, silken breath tickling along the hairs there.

Jack Scot:
A house husband. Yes. He smirks and lifts her up as if she weighed but a feather; slinging her over his shoulder and taking her into the house.

Sid:
She slaps his bum, cackling towards the ground.

9
WestEnd / Re: Thanks and Praise!! Comments? Questions? Critiques?
« on: July 24, 2014, 12:32:54 AM »
[quote:f95fb99015="Carefully Tailored"]
This makes perfect sense! And no, I wouldn't want to change the feel of West End at all--Perhaps, if it's all right with you and the others that write here, he purchases some land tucked away somewhere and renovates that for his mansion? Hiding it behind graffiti strewn walls or an illusion of some sort that makes it fit perfectly so I don't step on anyone's toes?

My character is a bit of a secretive type; hiding in West End just seemed perfect, but I don't want to change anything major of the setting or do what you described!

Thank you so much for replying! I look forward to writing here. If you'd like, I'd be happy (when I write it) to send a copy of my first post to you or anyone of the West End setting creators to see if it jives and fits before posting?  And as always, if I do anything that is not kosher, please do not hesitate to contact me. I don't bite. (Julian does. :p)[/quote]

This sounds great, actually. And I think it fits very well into the WestEnd. I can understand why Julian would feel the WestEnd is a fit. Years ago Sid placed a protection she's still unsure of (mostly to protect herself and hers) that effectively took the entirety of the WestEnd "off the radar" to any means - magical, tech, psionics, you name it. It is sort of a "dead zone", once someone is inside its boundaries it is nigh on impossible to find them. However, due to this things are not as stable in this area - streets and buildings may shift, magics and techs do not always work as one wishes.

Have fun with it. And you do not have to worry about sending me a draft of your first post. I will look forward to reading it, though.

Welcome Julian and player! Much Magic to you!
Sid's mun-ster

10
WestEnd / Re: Thanks and Praise!! Comments? Questions? Critiques?
« on: July 20, 2014, 04:35:26 AM »
I second the Crow!

11
WestEnd / Re: Thanks and Praise!! Comments? Questions? Critiques?
« on: July 17, 2014, 05:22:58 AM »
::Snuggles on her Crow!::

12
WestEnd / Re: Thanks and Praise!! Comments? Questions? Critiques?
« on: July 16, 2014, 03:22:55 AM »
Hello, Julian's player.

These are all excellent questions. Hmmm... I would never turn anyone away who wanted to play interactively in a setting I initially created. That being said, WestEnd is played (and has continued to grow) fairly consistently among the players of its denizens and the general populace of Rhy'Din as being a rundown (with randomly renovated/gentrified buildings and small blocks) urbanized-type area bordering a warehouse district (which borders the docks) situated at the border that separates old town Rhy'Din from the outskirts leading into Stars End.

Still, look at the Rhy'Din map in the lower left quadrant. Many play the WestEnd as that area where you see the two walls almost intersecting perpendicularly (they are separated by a road running nearly parallel to the wall that runs from the docks eastward). Many have played taking over dilapidated buildings, or razing properties, or finding properties already in rubble that they clear and take over.

I guess what I'm saying is that you are more than welcome to write here if you think you can "build" what you want in the WestEnd, being respectful of how others "see" this area and how their characters view their home. In other words, you can build what you want but don't trash the neighborhood by claiming your manse has suddenly turned it all into Beverly Hills. Then again, maybe your character is a bit out of his gourd and that's what he sees it looking like? ::Chuckles.:: (See what I'm saying here? If you can write it plausibly and are respectful of others' play and views you can get exactly what you want, there are tons of ways to play it off.)

So yes, please come play. Add your touch to this playing field by playing interactively within this setting.

I look forward to what you create!

Much Magic,
Sid's mun-ster

13
Blood House Onyx / Re: ((Talk To Us OOC Here))
« on: July 26, 2012, 09:50:22 PM »
Yes, this last image and the image before it (titled so appropriately, "Um...") has really got me itching even more so to bring Sun back. And... She is on her way! Promise. Big things coming up for her.

Gen, thank you so very much for every amazing, fabulous, wonderful piece of art you have drawn for my literary children over the years. You have a unique way of capturing all I see in my head.

And I am right there with you, Maeri-player. I, too, wish I had half the talent Gen just has in her little finger so that I could get the images in my head out onto paper or pixels.

Hope everyone is doing well! ::Hugs and Smoochies!::

~J

14
Blood House Onyx / Re: ((Talk To Us OOC Here))
« on: June 22, 2012, 09:32:29 PM »
::Gets glomped and hugs Brian, squeeing!:: Brian!!!

15
Blood House Onyx / Re: ((Talk To Us OOC Here))
« on: June 21, 2012, 07:57:06 AM »
::Gloms on to the Scottie player!!:: Love you!! Miss you!! Yes, Sid and Bel were speaking on Scottie in the SEB. As you can guess I haven't been about much. Life, you know. However, I am making an effort to get back into the creative swing. Lan and I have been doing it in small doses, trying to make a semi-schedule of RP a little bit every week so as not to overwhelm. We have so much magic to revel in, stories to live and breathe. And, of course in Sid's life and in my magic-making life, that includes you and Scottie. I miss our magic.

::Mischievous snickers.:: Apparently, Scottie has some politico/ceremonial thing in the north of his kingdom? Things have been all quiet on the western front, so to speak, so Sid is planning to bring the bairns ("Brad and Angelina" are 10 now!) to Rhy'Din for a visit whilst Da is out of town. She's aired out the 'stone and gotten it ready while she was in the city to vote the other day. ::Grins.::

Just trying to entice, luvvie. I do miss you and our magic.

Yes, a new B-Town anthology. I haven't gotten my copy yet, but am eagerly anticipating the purchase.

Don't just pass by memory lane, come and take some brief walks along it for some magic time!

::Hugs tight.:: Love you, I (we) do!
Julie (and Sid)

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