taennyn | Sparks!

Sparks for the poor?

Wild Roses:
The difference between timely and just in time (Phoebe & a young Ulysse)
a match struck in the dark (Takashi, Rock God days)
Fire-aligned at -40 (somewhere in the Trickwood)
family relationships (somewhere in the Trickwood)
changing assumptions
half-rotted leaves
tall grass
reinterpretation
I eets ur hed (the ambassador from Autumn & her daughter)
secondhand boots [2] (Isael)
fuzzy scratchy blankets (Fintain & Hazel & Sascha)
red stripes (Hazel & Sascha)
piano scales played slowly (Aodh)
bear trap (Hazel & Lin)
a little grey kitten (Isael & Conall)

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Herding the Witches' Horses:
a broken instrument (Falcons' Feathers, Sajal & Irina)
tasting smoke (Falcons' Feathers, Irina)
secondhand boots [1] (Sibir, Sergeievich)
reoccuring dreams (Sibir/Swallow's Tail, Helena)
nitrogen snow (le Chevalier de Grammont, Sinclair)
cats (le Chevalier de Grammont, Sinclair & Grammont)
the feeling of walking into the middle of an argument, even tho nobody's actually saying anything. (le Chevalier de Grammont, Martin & Sinclair & Grammont)
large fluffy falling snow (Swallow's Tail, Petrovich & Sascha)

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Death be not Proud:
mackeral (the Morrigan)
a partially destroyed, crucial record ([Telas] De'Ath)
brass taps & oak (Eduard De'Ath & the Morrigan)
self-indulgence (the Morrigan)

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Other:
the smell of salted meat frying (Nataraj, Luke & Samuil)
polished marble (Nataraj, Luke)
incandescent joy (Nataraj, Luke & Samuil)

---

Unknown:
Omniscience
Heroes are irritating creatures.
just hanging on 'til tomorrow
sometimes healing brings its own sort of pain

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Omniscience.

The difference between timely and just in time.

Heroes are irritating creatures.

I eets ur hed.

*looks out the window*

Fire-aligned at -40 below.

reoccurring dreams (yay, hüsker dü's zen arcade on repeat?)

the feelinng of walking into the middle of an argument, even tho nobody's actually saying anything.

a broken instrument.

....i'm torn between sympathy and laughter--'cause. yeah.

. . .is a GREAT excuse for a huge fire? In fireplace or out of it? That you can poke with sticks? And never fear of making the house too warm?

. . . not that I have lived this or anything.

large, fluffy, falling snow

piano scales played slowly

the smell of salted meat frying

She watched the stuffed toy--stitched back together in contrasting thread in places--fly across the room, followed at an easy lope by her daughter.

She reached out, tweaked a line of power, watched her daughter growl and corner quickly, pursued the toy along its new course. Folding her arms neatly into her sleeves, still jerking the toy along with her fingers, "Daughter mine?"

"EET UR HED!" her daughter announced, launching herself at her toy and proceeding to do just that, gnawing on the thing's head with every evidence of delight.

She extracted a hand from her sleeve to cover her face with it.

trickwood: family, or bond (relationships)

Takashi: A match struck in the dark

deaths: brass taps and oak

Sinclair: nitrogen snow

"I hate you all."

"Yup. How'd you arrange to make the lattice visible?"

"Heat increases vibration of air molecules, if you link vibration to emissions on the visible spectrum, you can see where the hot spots are."

"Ah. Neat. Here--I toasted a sandwich on the floor lattice."

"Why don't we have a fire? Surely that would be a better option than feeding me all the remains of our supplies."

"Poor air flow--we'd be breathing smoke. You're much more efficient. :D"

"I hate you. I'm eventually going to fall over, you know."

"Yup. We're working on it."

" . . . me falling over, or getting us out of here before I do?"

. . . Ahahahah. <3

fuzzy scratchy blankets

secondhand boots

just hanging on until tomorrow

"What is that?"

She was leaning wide to see around him without breathing down his neck, which he appreciated, but he reached back and moved one of her hands from his belt to a hook on the wall. Which brought her even more out of his line of reference, but kept her from distracting him from the poor balalaika by shifting or slipping and taking him with her.

"It used to be a balalaika," he said, smoothing his fingers across the remains of a long neck before examining the tangle of the triangular body. "It looks like someone used it to hit someone else. See how this section's pushed in?" he pointed, and she reached past him to run a finger along the grain of one of the pieces, curling her legs in until she was crouched beside him.

"What's it made of?"

"Wood."

She looked at him sharply, her eyes narrow. "You're having me on."

He grinned at her like a liar, then picked up the poor thing and held it out towards her, his face sober. "Plastics don't shatter like this."

She made the sign of the Cross, then touched it again, her eyes wide. "Someone made--"

"Music can be just as sacred as saints' bones," he told her, a little dry, as he started packing the balalaika into a carry-box.

*facepalm* Ahhh, dragons.

. . . my head is hurting at the idea of plastic stringed instruments.

A partially-destroyed, crucial record.

Reinterpretation.

Changing assumptions.

(someone is doing her hooooomework . . . )

*sticks out tongue*

He didn't think he was ever going to get used to ice just . . falling from the sky, in big pale lattices you could practically see.

He was sitting at the top of the Swallow's ramp, in about half his outdoor gear so he didn't get cold, when Sascha came back, ice caked around the heavy treads of his boots and big crystals of it perched in his dreadlocks. He looked like something out of a story, though heaven only knew what kind.

"Lev," the Siberian said, nodding a greeting when he set foot on the ramp.

"Sascha," he replied, scooting off to the side to give the other man space to get past him and inside.

Sascha banged his boots on the side of hte ramp, knocking loose most of the caked ice on his boots before he ducked inside, out of sight.

"Anything on the singer?" he called after a moment, sticking his head back into view.

"Helena and the kid are staying with her nieces until it either gets cold enough to run a sledge safely or it melts. Nothing on the other one."

"Nothin' to do but watch the snow fall, then. It's pretty, yeah?"

"It's . . strange," he replied eventually. "Like something out of a story, or a painting."