No Gilded Cages

Log Info

• Title: No Gilded Cages

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Asphodel, Ravenstongue

• Place: Theatre District

The Theatre District, noon.

The second day of Hattanani proves to continue the long streak of fine spring days started by the previous month. And while the Theatre District is a fine sight at any time of year, the colors that are always present here are vibrant and brilliant, with ribbons declaring Ceinara's favor in the form of Her colors adorning lamp poles and buildings alike. Today, the District is alive with the cheer and clamor of street musicians, a small band of people who might not even necessarily have known each other for very long playing together in an impromptu session.

One familiar sight to the Theatre District steps out of a bookstore and sighs. The dark-haired waves and violet eyes of Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon make her easy to spot, especially with her preference for purple in clothes to match her eyes, and today is no exception, as she wears a sleeveless lavender dress that flows all the way to her ankles, delicate in construction. The neckline is low enough to show some of the curuchuil mark on her chest, sweeping lines around the dark feather on display.

"Pothy," she says out loud to the air, "are you quite finished?"

Over by the musicians, the white raven that's her nearly-constant companion has been bobbing his head up and down in time to the music. He looks up at Cor'lana's voice, gives a merp in response, and flies back onto her shoulder. He gets a scritch on the head.

"What's next on our agenda," Cor'lana murmurs to herself. "Let's see..."

Kitty-corner from where Lana is pondering her next move, Asphodel is parting ways with a group of actors. Their laughter naturally subsides as the sound of music fills the air. Quite unlike the other woman, Asphodel isn’t known. Moving with actors and performers is the best of all worlds for a dilettante with zero interest in fame and all the time in the world for brilliant, colorful people. And so it is that she parts ways, a Muse in the making with ribbons in her hair.

And someone who is not about to look both ways before crossing the road, which nearly causes a passing merchant to topple his cart.

He yells. Asphodel, still literally aglow with the energy of the Theatre District, has nothing but a gregarious wave and friendly greeting as he careens past. He’s still yelling when Asphodel’s eyes catch what is in front of her: “Cor’Lana!”

The sound of her name in the air grabs Cor'lana's attention, and she looks over at Asphodel. It's, in truth, a split attention, as she looks over at the merchant who has nearly toppled his cart in the wake of Asphodel's quick movement before returning her full attention to the llyranesi woman, nodding a little.

"Asphodel," she greets, "unless you wish me to address you as 'Lady Carrough'. How are you this day? Aside from nearly being flattened by cart-pushers." There is a small hint of a smirk on her lips.

Pothy looks at Asphodel for the moment, those blue eyes on the raven studying her--nope. Looking at the hands in case there's snacks hidden in them.

"Oh, stars above," Asphodel says, letting out a long sigh and relaxing from the emotional intensity of performers. "Asphodel. Just Asphodel." As she closes the distance, it having occurred even to her that she ought not to stand in the street, she says, quietly and in a low voice, "But Llahnwyhn is my family name." The one used only among friends and those friends like family. Her smile has softened as she reenters terra firma. "And you are more than welcome to use it. Unless Lady Carrough is fun to say, although I suspect you know that this is merely my current House." She returns the hint of a smile. "And I'm all the better for having seen you just now.:

Cor'lana nods gently, the smile spreading a little more and putting a twinkle into her eyes as Asphodel asserts her preference. "I have no great love of titles born of mortal houses," she says, "nor do I pay much mind to mortal nobility and their squabbling in any capacity. There is life beyond the end of a privileged nose, as it's said here. In Alexandria, I have found it is better to simply be oneself."

It is a curious distinction that she places on mortal nobility and mortal houses--as opposed to what? one might ask--but she does not elaborate. Instead, Cor'lana gestures for Asphodel to walk with her. "My apologies, Llahnwyhn, for not making it to your event. As my husband explained, I was under the weather and did not think it would be polite to show up sneezing on everything and everyone."

"Understandable," Asphodel says solemnly to the notion of squabbling, petty nobility. "I left Llyranost for just such reasons. Perhaps when I am very old I shall return," she says, natively following the cue and walking astride Cor'lana. Her gait is a languid stroll that leaves time and peace for gossip.

"But this is what I came for. Life, and people making dreams reality. And you needn't apologize." She laughs as though trying to cover up her amusement.

"I commandeered that space right there," she gestures. "It would have only been better for your presence, but I would have failed in my duties as hostess. Anyways, the best part of any party is the day after, when you get to gossip about it," she adds, raising her brows in excitement. "You and your husband both have been very kind to me, and it is appreciated."

Cor'lana is just as slow and as intentional as Asphodel's walk. She has no intention of going anywhere very quickly. Clearly she has no pressing appointments nor any commitments. "Telamon is a fantastic asset in any social space, especially at a party," she says with a fondness in her voice that's matched in her eyes. "He is better at it than I am. I have a nasty tendency to stay inside and write my poetry if I'm left entirely to my own devices. It is a leftover habit from a childhood lived in isolation. We have lived in Alexandria for some time now, and we consider it a... Shall we say, duty of sorts to welcome people who are new and remind us of ourselves from the days in which we met each other."

"Snacks," Pothy interrupts, looking expectantly at Cor'lana.

"Yes, sweet boy," Cor'lana responds, giving Pothy another scratch on his fluffy head. "We are headed in the direction of your favorite stall." She looks back to Asphodel and says, "He's rather fond of this one stall that's near one of the places that I perform my poetry at often. They sell these sweet little cinnamon roll treats."

Llyranesi for sale, sold. "He's been a good boy," Asphodel says of Pothy, raising her face to send a quick nose-nuzzle through the air. "Favorite stall? My treat.

"You know," Asphodel begins in the hushed tones of someone about to impart a devastating secret, "Telamon has always been like that. Always. There was never anything between us," she says through abrupt laughter. "But the first time I saw him, I was tasked with accompanying Rune's father--"

"Whole other issue to discuss, believe me, I found out at the party that I actually know her--" Asphodel flattens her hands and sweeps them aside, interrupting her own line of thought. "We have got to talk about that. What were the odds?"

Picking up her previous line of thought, she adds, "I was at this meeting with Rune's father, and I remember hearing this voice. It was so young, and these elders were just watching him talk," she says, some awe still lingering. "I've never since seen anything like it. He just captivated this audience of old elves."

"So... your poetry," Asphodel says, slyly sneaking her curiosity into the end.

Cor'lana laughs softly, still the fondness present in her eyes. "That sounds like him," she says. "He and I met by chance at the Arcanist's Society here in Alexandria. It was actually Pothy who brought us together--as Pothy does like to remind me--as he went up to Telamon and demanded that he give Pothy something to eat. Bit of a rude bird back then. He's grown some manners since."

She reaches up and pets Pothy on the head. "And yet when I talked with Telamon--it was so easy. So natural. I felt immediately safe with him in a way that I'd never really felt with anyone before or after since then. I do not believe everything is destined nor does it have a fixed place in the future--but some things are. I believe Telamon and I were meant to be."

Then a few seconds pass, and she flushes slightly with embarrassment. "Oh, but I'm prattling. You asked about my poetry. I write on a number of things. Love. Happiness. Loneliness. Sorrow. Grief. Anger, too. It all boils down to an emotion in the end, even if I open with a rumination on the sky above and the clouds. I suppose most art is like that."

If ever there were someone to prattle to, Asphodel is that person. In spite of her ostentatious reputation, she listens with rapt attention, breaking gaze only to mind traffic. In the Theatre District, there is at least one performer with an ideal audience member.

"Look around," Asphodel says, gesturing to the work of dreams being built. "Not only are some things destined to be, but we have plays so old we forget that we were the inspiration first. You and Telamon are the things playwrights spend sleepless nights trying to portray. And now I am prattling," she says, snapping out of reverie.

"And it would not surprise me that such a collision of the stars would inspire one to great poetry." Her voice turns softer, "And a good man is actually worth writing home about. I chose weaving because I'm not artistically inclined, but through study, you can approach art. May I ask, have you always felt the pull to write?"

Cor'lana smirks a little with Asphodel's turn of the hand about the District. "It's true," she says. "People often criticize art for aspiring too high, for being unrealistic. And while certainly there is art that is not grounded in the real--that is the appeal of dreams and dreaming. There are simply some people for whom the dream is far better than reality. And then there are those who make their dreams reality. Both are powerful in their own ways, far more powerful than many people realize--and it is possible for the first to become the second. I should know, as I am proof."

She nods a little as they walk. "I've written for a long time," she admits. "When I was a teenager, it was about the only thing I could do. I wrote stories based on books I'd read, and I wrote poetry, too. Nowadays, I leave the prose to the writers who can write it best; poetry appears to be where my heart belongs."

"That is what I admire most in someone," Asphodel admits with a solemn tone. "Is there a vision? Is there a goal? I am at my happiest when I am around the people I love, showing them off to others at their best, showing them why I think these people are wonderful. The boundaries between the mists, the dreaming world, and the waking is thinnest there to me. I wonder, is it the same for you?" She grins. "I know that artists are not the crazy extroverts the public thinks-- I am the crazy extrovert, that is my role-- and so I genuinely find your process fascinating. Art really is a dream come to life. Or, when we allow others to write poetry on our hearts."

"I am somewhat at home in dreams, yes," Cor'lana responds, although she seems a little restrained on that answer. "Some of my ancestors are... Shall we say, affiliated with a realm that is of close relation to that of dreaming. Moreso than the average person of sildanyari stock. I have inherited some of their affinity, and so dreaming comes easily for me. Yet I would prefer to be elsewhere--and I also know well enough to know that going there on a whim is unwise."

She smiles a little. "It's true. You, Telamon, and others like you--you operate in a different way than I do. I am not a creature who is entirely suited to loneliness. I welcome conversations such as these. But I do tire of being in the company of many people eventually. Home--and a select few--are safest for me in that regard."

Asphodel cannot help but smile, a serene expression as if gazing into another world entirely. "I was lucky," She admits. "I had the personality, if not the lack of values, that were perfect for a courtier. Although I confess that I could lose myself in dreams with ease. I feel most at home there, swimming between the stars. And perhaps it is by no small chance that the lovely mark upon your hand bears the name I chose for adulthood," she says, breaking into soft laughter. "Are those asphodels? Clean, simple, lovely little flowers. My grandmother's rose garden was the stuff of legend," Asphodel begins, already sounding exasperated. "When she finally died, we burned the thing to the ground. Wild roses, cultivated by an ancient Sil woman, that grew as if by accident into a maze? She reminds me of you. There is a stronger or more authentic..." Asphodel searches for the words... "Closer to what we used to be?"

"Oh! I keep forgetting to give this to you!" Asphodel says, drawing a package from inside her vest. It's a silk-wrapped set of papers bound together, and of all things, pinned closed with Asphodel's earrings. She profers it to Ravenstongue. "The names... of a list, to a party," she says, her smile sharpening into a fae grin. "You know how sometimes you get guests who show up and treat your home as if it were a brothel? Wouldn't you like to be able to finally turn the legal process against them? A, ah, very important legal process?"

"They're not flowers at all," Cor'lana remarks, lifting up her left hand to show the mark on it a little closer. "But I can see how they're mistaken for the asphodel flower. They're a white raven's feathers, surrounding a starry sky--with three prominent stars within. The feathers represent myself, and the starry sky represents Telamon. And three is a number of meaning for Telamon and myself."

She winces a little at the idea of burning a rose garden to the ground. "I would have liked to see such a sight," she admits. "But there is also beauty--and renewal--in flames."

Then Asphodel hands her the set of papers and Cor'lana... looks through them for a moment. "Legal process as in metaphor, yes," she says. "Otherwise I must confess I have very little need nor appetite for legal matters. I am descended from the sylvanori, Llanwyhn, and rules, laws--I respect them in keeping order when they work well. I tend to prefer other means to settle my disputes.

"Well, it became something of a thing when they started... drinking people," Asphodel says, managing to blanch even as pale as she is. "And I also prefer settling things my own way. This is why I gave you and Telamon the papers. The name matters. The courts," She laughs now, truly and genuinely, so that she cannot finish her sentence. When she catches her breath, her eyes still sparkle with tears. "I'm a product of the Llyranesi high court, my friend, and thus I think laws are important. For other people," she emphasizes. "But I find other means do require preparation. And having a name, a location, documented proof that can be used as blackmail, and an attitude like ours is always best for preparation. Who said he needs to live through the trial?" Asphodel asks with the casual tone of a Llyranesi discussing plans.

"Llanwhyn." The name is said carefully and yet with a weight that commands attention. Cor'lana smiles politely. "I know you mean well. But my enemies--my true ones, not the people who gossip that I am a Temptress who betrays my husband to prey on other men--they abandon names and identities as quickly as they don them. They do not care an iota for the mortal courts and legal matters, because they are not born of this plane nor are they bound to it. Thus I do not intend on filing any legal matters. It would be a waste of time and resources. My resources and time are best used on other matters--researching the nature of my enemies, preparing weapons to use against them, researching spells that may win me an advantage in battle. You are in Alexandria now, my friend--and what happens here that is the work of evil cannot be bound by a piece of paper ordering them to stay away. Fortunately, there are also those who rise up to use their abilities to put down evil."

She reaches up and pats Pothy, who wears a suddenly anxious look in his blue eyes. "That being said. What you bring me is still valuable in a manner of speaking. An alias of an enemy who sheds their disguises is useful for establishing a pattern. It is something that I could use in a divination spell or ask around about later."

"Cor'lana," Asphodel says, after politely listening to what the other woman has to say. "I'm not suggesting that you file suit in a court of law, before a magistrate. But someone is responsible for opening the door. Besides." She glances at the passing artists in various guises, the musicians and their diverse array of instruments. "This is how you actually kill a god. It is not as dramatic as the great epics would portray."

The gaze she gives Cor'lana is long, measured, and completely devoid of anything but the analytical expression of a long-term planner. "You are, my friend, waging a war. I remind you that you are a poet," She says. "You should know better than any the power of words. These things, they enter our world. And they are subject to its laws in a far more literal manner than you or I. I know not your past, but I do know that no one is so great a tactician that they turn down ideas.

"If the words on your heart are real, are you telling me you cannot make these words real?" She asks finally, posing the question like a challenge.

"You have a point," Cor'lana concedes with a smile. "They are fond, at times, of using the mortal law against people or to twist it so it's in their favor. That is precisely why I am not fond of the legal system nor in beseeching the Council to do anything when it's often better to simply find the enemy and 'write their ending', so to speak. I do accept that it is at least prudent to have a 'paper trail' in the event that I need it."

She claps her hands together. "Which is to say I admire your preparation on that front. But--might I ask. Are you a spellcaster? A sorcerer, perhaps, or as my beloved husband likes to call it, someone with 'the talent'?"

"All good," Asphodel laughs. "It's my duty as a friend! I also dislike the idea of these people using the legal system to further their ends, which... now that you bring it up..." A frown shades Asphodel's face. "Maybe not the best idea after all. I just wanted you and Telamon to have the documentation, however it gets used. You get it first, and then I imagine it will trickle through the Shining Chalice." And now, a return to the comfortable serenity that is staring down large, complex systems over a span of time.

"I am that, yes. A sorceress. No learned wizard, I. Our family has never really produced accomplished spellcasters, much less one who finds dreams more tangible than the waking world."

Cor'lana smiles gently as they continue to walk together. Not very far from the food stalls at all, as they're strategically positioned near the most popular of playhouses. "You're getting it," she says. "My advice to you, Llanwhyn--cultivate your power as a sorceress. Work on it, get advice from others--I will freely admit that the Shining Chalice is a good place for this, even if I, myself, do not participate much in my beloved husband's activities there--and you will find that you are able to solve that evil which besets Alexandria. It is a slow road at first, and you make feel weak and powerless at first..."

And she scratches Pothy gently on his head feathers. The bird seems no longer anxious. Especially since snacks are in sight. "And then you will be overpowering those who threaten the people you love and care about, in due time. It is a difficult path--but unlike the courts of the Llyranesi, it is not a gilded cage. You are free of that place--and therefore you are able to fly. Does that make sense?"

Sometimes the most genuine of gestures are the smallest, and Asphodel has paused with half-lidded eyes to listen to Lana's advice. She looks as if it were she, and not Pothy, being scratched.

In fact, there is a vulnerability that would simply never be seen otherwise.

"You are a very wise woman," Asphodel begins, and it would be a compliment but for her scrutiny in finding the right words. "You certainly picked up on that with astounding clarity-- which one of you has the eye for hunting?" She asks with a grin. "The problem is that I do not know what to really make of it. You say cultivate power, and I believe that if I tried, I would end up cultivating something, but probably just to the left of the goal."

Cor'lana smirks, just a little. "If you believe the lies said about me, I am a hunter of men. Pothy is a hunter of foodstuffs and knowledge. The truth about me is that I am a hunter of those who would seek to chain down my happiness and my freedom. And I know enough of nobility--both in the mortal sense in Llyranost and beyond mortal ken--to know that all within them wear chains of gold and silver. Beautiful chains that far too many covet for the privileges that are within them. You can dance in them, yes. You can eat fine foods in them, yes. But not even a Queen is free to do as she wishes."

They're close enough to the stall now. Pothy takes flight off her shoulder and goes to presumably harass the worker there for a sample--a notion that doesn't even bother Cor'lana. They'll catch up to the bird and then buy him a proper snack soon enough. "Use it," she says. "Theory is good. Theory is necessary to understand how magic operates, and how to identify what and how your enemies use it against you. But for sorceresses like us--it is magic from within, magic that is personal, and therefore you have to spend time with it to develop it. There is no easy book to read on your magic. It took me a long time to grasp mine. But when I did--I soared."

She gestures to the stall. "Now--shall we share a snack with Pothy?" Her smile is bright.

Asphodel is largely silent while they obtain a treat for Pothy, remaining as thoughtful as she simply watches him eat. "I suppose the Shining Chalice is a good place to begin," she says. "But as you say, it comes from within." Her fingers reach as if to grab, and for want of something tactile, Asphodel produces from her canvas bag a drop spindle. Undyed wool, from the look of it, that drops as its operator lets fiber flow through her hands. "I have prayed to Eluna. I was never called into service. But it became a point of, oh, something like shame for the Family. After all, their claim to fame is that one of our ancestors was a legendary fae. And yet, what floated to the surface, what came from the blood, were dreams.

"And I never really knew what to make it one way or another. I wanted to explore everything fae; I wanted to find a way back across the Mists. And yet, the dreamworld is louder than any other reality."

One of our ancestors was a legendary fae. The very phrase makes Cor'lana stand still, and she looks at Asphodel, turning her head slowly. There is a very different expression on her face now, one that is neutral, sober, and yet...

Then it blooms into a wide, knowing smile, incandescent like the sun and twinkling in her violet eyes like the stars. Cor'lana takes Asphodel's hand.

"You are kin, then," she says, very quietly, yet loud enough for Asphodel to hear over the din of everything else in that way that conspirators can manage. "Do you know of your ancestor's name? Or was that lost to you and your family over the years?"

Asphodel glances at first in surprise, but the joy passes through her like current, and she has abandoned spinning to clasp Lana's hand with both. She squeezes twice, thrice, and then says, "It's like magic, finding one of your own. All the things that need not be explained." She pauses. "His name was, or perhaps still is, Llyren, but today I think people would say Laurence or Laurent. Sometimes Aurello, or Aurelli. The story goes that the Lord of or Lord On Sunset fell in love with Night, and he is either stealing Dawn's gold or finding ways to cut her golden hair. So that, as my favorite uncle once said, night could come faster."

It's a deadpan moment for Asphodel, whose exact brand of humor was just described by her family lineage, and perhaps the same echo in her laughter. "He crops up a lot. Like you, he had violet eyes, his most noted feature. It's one of those details that is so consistent throughout what is maybe myth and what precious little is documented."

"He rides Sunset in most tales. Sunset is a steed, but also a friend." Asphodel is laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes. "We know a family whose claim is far less tangible than our own to another, distant figure. Apparently, our ancestors were good friends. How else do you explain riding sunset to cut hair?"

Cor'lana listens to the tale. And... Her eyes sparkle more. "I inherited my violet eyes from my Grandfather--in truth he is that many times over--but his name is none of those," she says. "He is called Alud'rigan, the Feathered One. Perhaps this Llyren is a cousin of his."

She is so visibly delighted that she looks at Asphodel and concludes, "Which would make you and I truly kin. We should research this together. It may be possible to establish a connection--and knowing more of your ancestry may allow you to progress in learning more of your own magic. It was like that for me. I did not learn of my descent from Grandfather until I came here to Alexandria."

"I have a feeling, just a hunch, that no matter how fabulous the masquerade, Llyren was the gentleman who never wore a mask." Asphodel pauses. And smirks. "I like that. And you are right, we may share some distant relation! I just... this sort of kinship is more important than degree. The struggle to not laugh at inappropriate times is never-ending trouble. I like Llyren; he's a figure I can relate to.

"Telamon said that it was different for everyone. The call of the dream is so loud that it sometimes drowns out all other things. And it renders one into a surprisingly literal person. Like with Llyren. You can dress that story up all you want, but he sounds like a gorgeous man who loved his wife, hated his sister in law, and apparently they had a very fae open-bed policy. But in Llyranost, the claim is what matters."

"That is being feytouched for you," Cor'lana says with a small smile. "For me--it is having my emotions shift so quickly and so intensely that people can have their heads spin. Or for poetry to fly from my mouth when the whim strikes me. It makes sense now why you say you are drawn to the realm of dreams."

Her smile widens. "Ni'essa--Eluna, as she is known by large here--she was the one who created Quelynos, where the fae dwell. I have experienced those of fae lineage and descent are more powerful in the dreaming realm than others--a little more able to adapt to the shifting nature of dreams than others are."

She squeezes Asphodel's hand a little more. "I must caution you, kin--stories are lovely things, but the way that mortals tell them--they can change. They can be different from how you think. My Grandfather was told in my paternal family tree as a monster who ripped children out of the arms of our family tree to live with him in Quelynos--when it was his children, the first of my family on that line, who made the arrangement to always have a descendant living with him. If we research together, you may find out things are more different than you might know them as now."