The moon is in Jupiter, and the sailors' whores are in scarlet. That'll make for interesting times...
     Gwilym whistles softly through his teeth as he walks cat-like along the spine of a gabled roof, light as any thief as he waits for the clouds to part to give light to his way, just a little bit. He doesn't need much.
     Well, really, he doesn't need any light at all, but he's not here for thieving this early morning...
     Oh ho, a beetle, crossing my path. What's this? Gwilym Gwyn Garu bends, crouching lightly as he tips the beetle over onto its back to examine jewels and gold set into its belly. No ordinary beetle, this. An uncommon beetle, with an uncommon message...
     He laughs out loud, startling three nesting pigeons and somewhere far below, a knife is drawn in surprise. But he's gone before anyone can look, filtered moonlight revealing empty roofing tiles. He is already Between, and on his way to the palace.
     He emerges in his own suite, Holly King that he is, and it is well after breakfast, here, but not so late as for him to be late. Gwilym whistles again as he examines his reflection, but opts not to change from the skin-tight black leathers, oiled so that they gleam without reflection and without sound. He sweeps his hair so that it covers the left eye instead of the right, today; he likes to take turns, keeps people guessing, if they notice at all. And he heads to the door, nodding easily to guards who know his room was empty when they came on duty, damn it, and whistling all the while, he makes his way down to where, presumably, his nephew waits. Brawd, brawd, you're sure you want to do this? Trustin' your youngest to me. I promise not to let him get any tattoos, but you know how things happen around me...

     It's a rite of passage I shall not deprive him of. And I trust you to give him the skills and knowledge he needs to survive it. That droll tone you know so well is there, undaunted and unchanged from the passing of time. If he wants a tattoo, that's fine. It's his skin -- and I'm covered in them, so who am I to talk? I trust you to protect him when he needs it. As you have always done with all of us, brawd.
     Anierin rests on the floor of his own chambers (directly off his father's), his chin resting on a folded arm -- his other hand outstretched and spinning what appears to be a top. He is dressed, still, in jeans and Converse, double-shirts (one of which is a BJD), his black hair flopping in his own eyes.

     Oes, oes, I'll do my best. He's a bit young, but we'll see how he fares. Gwilym smiles to himself, and he rounds a corner - and appears in your room. "Well, looks as if you're comfortably dressed, at least," he says casually, looking you up and down. "Ready to go, then, or not looking t' go out just yet today?" He laughs and winks his one visible eye. "Anywhere you'd like to see in specific?"

     When you enter, his dark head lifts and those blue eyes find you. "Good morning, Uncle Gwilym." And he seems all the younger until he stands up. He's almost thirteen -- not quite! -- and already five-foot-nine. He's lanky -- still coltish in frame. But his face, pretty more than cute or handsome, is serious.
     How like Tiernan he is...
     "I am willing to see whatever you wish to show me. I've never been to the Shadows." Anierin comes up to stand next to you, waiting for your direction. And to think, when the twins were his age they were demanding to be dukes. Cheeky devils.
     "Is it as dangerous as they say?" he wonders. "And can you really go anywhere from there?"

     He smiles, shaking his head. "It's dangerous," Gwilym acknowledges, "and it's easy t' get lost there. The paths change behind you, sometimes in front of you, and there are creatures which roam that wilderness, looking for the unwary as their prey." He states it as fact, rather than melodrama, and he holds out his hand. "We'll start there, and see where t' go from there, oes?"
     He waves his other hand, opening a vortex of shadows which ripples softly and hurts the eyes a little to look upon. "Just stay close to me and don't wander off. It's a bad idea to stray from the path, or from your guide, in Shadows. And we'll see where to go from there, oes? Or we can let your subconscious guide us, if you prefer."

     Anierin doesn't hesitate and he doesn't waver. He seems actively curious more than anything else. He gives you his hand. I will stay close, uncle. I don't want to get lost before lunch. He has a sense of humor, even.
     There is an element and an air of bravery around him. In energy, he is a compromise between his two fathers. He is Courage and Reason, in youth yet, but it is there.
     His grip is neither too loose nor too tight. He clasps your hand easily. I will try not to pepper you with too many questions, uncle. As for my subconscious... I am willing to try if you are. I don't know what's there either... His mouth makes the slightest twist of a smile.

     He smiles, and the world shimmers as shadows swallow you and him up. You are as safe as anyone is, in Shadows; but there is a rush of cold all the same, and the quavering moan of a wind that is not rushing air. The darkness shivers, the grey road rising on the featureless plain. "There, now," Gwilym remarks, looking around, sniffing. "I don't smell any Lost Ones; that's good." All the same, with the hand not holding yours, he draws his sword and begins to move slowly forward.
     "The subconscious is a tricksy place. We all have sore spots, we all have hopes, dreams, fears. This is a place which can take those and turn 'em to life, if they've put too much weight on your heart. You're young yet." He chuckles soundlessly. "That can help, sommat - can mean less time for the weight to accumulate." He keeps moving. "There's paths to Heaven and to Hell, here, and everywhere in between. So," Gwilym adds casually. "I understand you've got a girlfriend, now."

     Still holding onto your hand, Anierin smiles a little even as he's turning his head this way and that way to look at what surrounds him. "Her name is Marian. She's fourteen." An older woman! "We walk to class together, mostly." When they're not kissing, that is.
     "But I'm not looking for anything serious," he notes dryly. Anierin pauses, looking around again. "Is this the intersection, then, of all possible realities -- past, present and future? How do you move through the shadows to other places? I hear there are terrible beasts in shadows." He looks at your sword. "Should I have brought mine?"
     I don't have many fears yet. I haven't done much. I used to be afraid that I wouldn't make friends, but that turned out to be unfounded. I am a little scared, I guess, of... leaving home. Or what's been my home. Though, I'll be with papa and da. Still... I'm leaving my friends, my brothers... I don't know what that's going to be like yet...

     He grins to himself. Not looking for anything serious. Duw, that sounds familiar. Gwilym says aloud, "Not really. This is both real and not. Y'see, you know how there's things which in our world don't exist, but in the earthly realm do, like motorcycles and so on, and in ours we've got dragons and sommat? The worlds parted a long time back and haven't been seen together since. This is In Between."
     He waves a hand airily, his sword twitching. "So there's things which prowl here which can't quite make it through to one place or the other, and there's things which get born here from our dreams and our fears - mostly the latter." He smirks. "The nice shite doesn't last here. Anyway - most people can't get here without help. If they do stumble in here - it is possible, if a soul's forgotten all hope, or occasionally, if they're just drunk enough - they don't last long without help. We keep our eyes open for Lost Ones, and we try to help 'em if we can, but there's only a few of us, and a hell of a lot more of them."
     He comes to a halt, slicing the air with his sword so that a slash appears, bleeding some pale blue vapor. "Change is frightening," Gwilym agrees. "Things are changing, and you can't know how that'll go. You have to have faith that even when it doesn't go well, though, ultimately, in the long run, you'll overcome the bad and turn it into good." He looks down at you with that mercurial, glinting grin of his. "Let's face it, not everybody in our family's had an easy time of it, oes? Look at your granddad, hell, look at the Sun King. Things change, we keep on keeping on, and if we're good enough at what we do or stubborn enough... we succeed in the end. So. Not looking for anything serious. What are y' looking for?"

     Large blue eyes blink. "I'm not sure, uncle," he says. "I'm not yet thirteen. I'm not really certain. I like the way she smells. And she taught me how to kiss. Right now, that's... all I'm really looking for. I don't think I want to have sex with her," he's so matter of fact. "I think I would rather seek the counsel of a nymph for that. At least until I get good at it..."
     Using nymphs for practice?
     "Getting my degree at the academy is more important to me. And... I know," he says with a tilt of his head, one blue eye veiled by black hair. "It's sort of like walking into here for the first time. I'm not sure what's going to happen. But... I think I will be okay."
     He nods. "In Between. That makes sense. So is that what Bran and Aeron do," Anierin wonders. "Do they try to help the Lost or keep the creatures at bay or both with you?"

     "Nymphs get boring pretty fast in my experience, but suit y'self." One eyebrow slides upwards. He's impressed despite himself. Kid has style. "I wouldn't recommend having sex with her. There's a lot that can go wrong with that. Pregnancy too, 'course, but not just that."
     Gwilym smirks again, and he moves through the gap, bringing you with him. There's a brief and blinding flash, and when vision returns to normal, you - and he - are in the shadows outside what appears to be a tavern, at night. A string of red paper lanterns dangles above the doorway, and red lightbulbs show behind closed shades. "Nobody will see or hear us," the Holly King tells you, "but don't wander, all the same. They do both, and they have other duties as well. We listen for trouble; sometimes the smallest things have the biggest significance. So what would you like to know?"

     "What else can go wrong?" Anierin wonders. "Apart from emotional attachment and pregnancy? If there's too much else that can go wrong, then I'm definitely waiting until I'm eighteen. Maybe twenty."
     You may be able to use those words against him one day...
     "Uncle," Anierin says quietly after the flash, "...how do you know when to step out of Shadows where you'll be? And can you get to anywhere at anytime? Or do you have to learn certain routes before you can go back and forth like that?" He marvels at the prospect more than he does the unusual lightning and red paper lanterns. "Where are we?"
     He doesn't let loose of your hand, though it appears to be quite normal, the environs that is. "I want to know a lot about everything," Anierin answers. "What subject, uncle?"

     "Oh, lots can go wrong, but just because sommat can go wrong doesn't mean it will." Gwilym grins, waving his sword airily again. "It's like anything else in life. You pay your money, you take your chances, but you do what y' can to tip the odds in your favor, oes?"
     He looks to you, smiling slightly. "It depends. You'll be able to cross from one world to the next, likely, when the time comes, but like as not to places which mean something t' you - where you've been before, for one. Powys is a natural for most of us. But if you've been somewhere, usually, you know the way, though your aim might take practice. For the rest," he looks around, "there's paths you won't learn without walking the road I walk, and it's not a road most want to walk. Your uncles Bran and Aeron decided to. Your da decided not to - but your da can go back and forth, as you know, and he's one of the only people who can find me even when I don't want to be found."
     He moves on quickly; that could be too revealing, if dwelled upon. "As for what else can go wrong, when politics enters the mix, loads o' things. You know your papa's foster mother was an evil witch, oes? I imagine you read the histories; the official ones, at least. And we're in your grandmother's kingdom, my own dear mama's." Gwilym grins. "The Kingdom of the Flowering Tree, and we're in the red light district - we're outside a brothel, called The Hexagonal Pearl."

     Anierin nods at that, the logic sufficient. His blue eyes examine everything: your words, the surroundings, the logic. And though he'll be all of thirteen by the winter solstice, he doesn't mind holding your hand. His grasp is strong without being clinging; light, without being weak.
     Brothel. "I do know that about my father's mother, oes. I am glad we didn't have the displeasure of meeting one another. I'm glad nainie killed her. She sounded like a terrible person," he says so easily. He looks to you -- still up, so far -- blue eyes peering past black hair. "What's a brothel?"
     Well, he hasn't done, yet, what most boys do: which is to look up all the dirty words in the dictionary. "The Hexagonal Pearl. Are they saying that their business is as rare and unusual as a six-sided pearl would be, pearls being round usually?"

     "A brothel is where men and sometimes women go for paid companionship," Gwilym answers. He smiles but doesn't laugh. There's no shame in innocence. "Usually this means sex, though not always. As for what they're saying, that's one interpretation, though there could be others."
     He doesn't go on right away. "Your papa's foster mother was," Gwilym says finally, "someone who'd twist any act of kindness to her own ends. Thing is, she was beautiful - so beautiful that she had no shortage of lovers. And she hid her real ugliness where it took time to find out. She's winkle secrets out of her lovers and get them to do things for her, and hold it over their heads, and ... well, this is the short version, you understand. Anyway. D'you want to go in? We won't be seen unless you want to be seen."
     "You can't trust beauty necessarily. All of nature says this. The most beautiful frogs are poisonous. And sometimes flowers as well," he points out. And, he learns by that lesson, that also sometimes applies to people.

     Anierin looks from the colors to the signs to you. There's innocence, but there's no nervousness. He nods, waiting for you to lead the way. "I've seen people having sex before," he admits. Living in the hallway he lives in, it's not exactly surprising. "Once, Madison and Balthazar didn't close their window to the colonnade. I could see everything. Madison is very beautiful," he notes matter-of-factly.
     "He was in Bridge," a yoga pose, "... and she was sitting on his lap, but facing the window. Marian is ...not shaped that..."
     She's not a seventeen year old girl...

     He does chuckle at this. "She's a firecracker," Gwilym agrees, heading for the door. There is a bored-looking half-ogre bouncer on duty, but he takes no note of either of you. "Marian is young. Give her til Madison's age, and we'll see - though I'll grant you, there's plenty of girls her age and older who haven't Madison's particular combination of looks and joie de vivre."
     He grins and keeps it to himself. For now, anyway. He waits until a cloaked dandy heads in, then nips in behind the dandy, right on his heels, tugging you along lightly. "They can't see or hear us, but they'd notice a door opening wide," the Holly King grins, "so we may as well allow them to make it easy for us. You see how he showed the bouncer his card? That symbol shows he's a member of the club, and gets him access. And inside, well, here we are."
     Men and women lounge upon velvet-cushioned couches in varying stages of undress. There's discreet flute and harp music from somewhere, and wine flows like an overfilled river, quiet laughter and sometimes raucous shrieks audible. The women, mostly, wear the sort of things that some would consider a step up from Fredrick's of Hollywood, with rouged nipples and swaying hips and expensive baubles. A mahogany bar runs the length of the back wall of the room, and two staircases (not one) lead to an upper floor, with men and women going in pairs and coming back down singly. Gwilym grins to you, but does not speak, letting you take it in.

     "Joie de... vivre?" Anierin gets out. He doesn't speak French like his older brother. Blue eyes suddenly go wide and he swallows as he sees not one pair but many pairs of breasts. He barely notices the men. For a moment, it's overpowering. His mouth falls open, his eyes following the rouged nipples wherever they go.
     You feel the tug of his hand -- he almost follows them, like he's in a trance, but you're taller and heavier than he is. It is good you provide him an anchor.
     Anierin turns his head this way and that, his beautiful face several shades of red darker than usual. His cream complexion gives him away. As does the tugging of his shirt to make sure his jeans are covered. His eyes lock upon passing breasts. It's easy to see what he'll be dreaming about later.
     "Maybe sixteen," he mumbles to himself.

Posted by rowan at April 03, 2010 09:37 PM