05-19-2013, 04:06 PM
[fucking awesome posts, Kai!]
Nina's bike isn't designed to make it down and around the one and a half mile stretch of gravel road between the Roxborough Parks District building, past the reservoir, and to the bend that curves around the eastern ridge of the park itself. And while she couldn't give less of a shit about arriving with a face full of road rash, she doesn't want to risk harming her trusty steed. So she bummed a ride with one of her new friends, a fellow dormitory resident of 1999 Broadway's 39th floor. After the events outside Pints a few weeks back the Rotagar decided to ditch her bedbug-ridden room at the Royal Palace for something cleaner. Her new room, which she may or may not be sharing, is cleaner. More sanitary. Doesn't have any questionable stains on the mattress. And, it's a little closer to a home than the wanderer's had for some time.
So, the moot. Her first one here, and the first one she's been to in a city like Denver. Two septs, one Caern, she's been curious about how that worked since she first rolled into town. Little by little she's learning. This is the night when they set aside their differences, their petty squabbles, and join together to honor Earth, Gaia, Luna.
She follows the others, dressed for the weather in her grey t-shirt with the pink Supergirl S, jeans that have recently become cutoffs, long enough that skin of her leg does not make contact with the leather of her hip bag, and her maroon and white Adidas sneakers, her hair down, twisted to fall over one shoulder. They go to the edge of the bawn where they wait, Nina bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands in her pockets, eager to go, to get on with it. She stays, though, because she doesn't know where to go yet. The not knowing is frustrating and exciting, because it's different. How boring would it be to hold the same rituals in the same place month after month into eternity?
The song starts somewhere in the distance. Those nearest to her start off in that direction. Nina watches them go first, lifting her chin and tracking their progress even as her weight shifts forward, ready to carry her onward. It's not long before she's trekking out after them, a grin splitting her face, following the sound of song to the meadow. Once there they part ways. Some join their packs. Some stand with others of their ranks. Nina joins the Others, the newest, the Cliaths, the unbonded. When she joins in on the chorus it's with a voice that is, well, terrible. Unmelodic. The Rotagar cannot carry a tune to save her life but it doesn't matter. She's clapping and stamping along with the others, feeling the trail her Gnosis makes through her body, from her heart and down into the ground with each stamp of her sneakered foot, feeding and strengthening the Caern.
She's just happy to be here. Happy to belong. Happy to be home.
Nina's bike isn't designed to make it down and around the one and a half mile stretch of gravel road between the Roxborough Parks District building, past the reservoir, and to the bend that curves around the eastern ridge of the park itself. And while she couldn't give less of a shit about arriving with a face full of road rash, she doesn't want to risk harming her trusty steed. So she bummed a ride with one of her new friends, a fellow dormitory resident of 1999 Broadway's 39th floor. After the events outside Pints a few weeks back the Rotagar decided to ditch her bedbug-ridden room at the Royal Palace for something cleaner. Her new room, which she may or may not be sharing, is cleaner. More sanitary. Doesn't have any questionable stains on the mattress. And, it's a little closer to a home than the wanderer's had for some time.
So, the moot. Her first one here, and the first one she's been to in a city like Denver. Two septs, one Caern, she's been curious about how that worked since she first rolled into town. Little by little she's learning. This is the night when they set aside their differences, their petty squabbles, and join together to honor Earth, Gaia, Luna.
She follows the others, dressed for the weather in her grey t-shirt with the pink Supergirl S, jeans that have recently become cutoffs, long enough that skin of her leg does not make contact with the leather of her hip bag, and her maroon and white Adidas sneakers, her hair down, twisted to fall over one shoulder. They go to the edge of the bawn where they wait, Nina bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands in her pockets, eager to go, to get on with it. She stays, though, because she doesn't know where to go yet. The not knowing is frustrating and exciting, because it's different. How boring would it be to hold the same rituals in the same place month after month into eternity?
The song starts somewhere in the distance. Those nearest to her start off in that direction. Nina watches them go first, lifting her chin and tracking their progress even as her weight shifts forward, ready to carry her onward. It's not long before she's trekking out after them, a grin splitting her face, following the sound of song to the meadow. Once there they part ways. Some join their packs. Some stand with others of their ranks. Nina joins the Others, the newest, the Cliaths, the unbonded. When she joins in on the chorus it's with a voice that is, well, terrible. Unmelodic. The Rotagar cannot carry a tune to save her life but it doesn't matter. She's clapping and stamping along with the others, feeling the trail her Gnosis makes through her body, from her heart and down into the ground with each stamp of her sneakered foot, feeding and strengthening the Caern.
She's just happy to be here. Happy to belong. Happy to be home.