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[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck does so loathe this season.

But in spite of his bitter sentiment, one must do what one can to eke some enjoyment out of the winter months. In that spirit, once the sun set and the stars came out tonight, Puck made his way out of doors for the first time in many, many weeks.

What he is doing now might be referred to as skating on the frozen lake. That is, if anyone could identify anything on his feet that resembled skates.

Or shoes.

What can be identified is a series of flickering lights, purest white, which bob about him as he goes, now at his feet and now framing his face. They might be lantern-lights, or very large fireflies.

(The smart money, of course, is that they aren't either one.)


[ooc: open 'til it scrolls, kids.]

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[forewarned_is]

Kali's come outside to look around. (The cold doesn't bother her; it never has.) She planned on going to get a closer look at the mountain, with certain possible ulterior motives in mind.

But the show of power -- and of artistry -- out over the lake has attracted her interest.

For the moment, she's only watching.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck has been bounding around for quite a bit without paying much heed to the passing of time-- or to the passing-by of Milliways patrons. But there are some people, you understand, who naturally command some attention.

He pauses, after a moment, and the lights pause with him; though they continue to flicker, almost to thrum.

[forewarned_is]

She gives him a regal nod, and an appreciative smile.

No outward show of power there; an observer might think he saw an ordinary woman watching the shining dancer, if a woman oddly underdressed for the cold.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck doesn't-- quite-- smile back.

In fact, he's not sure what he ought to make of her, except that he is reminded in some small degree of the bright Lady of Midsummer, whom he is so glad to have seen so little.

The resemblance is but fleeting.

"Does it please you to watch, lady?" he calls.

Now he does smile, faintly.

"Or had you rather see me take my entertainment elsewhere?"

[forewarned_is]

"By all means, stay," she calls back across to him, pleasantly. "I only came this way when I saw the lights."

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

"Ah," he says, "did you?"

The lights bob about around him, fan out as if to depart, and then wend their way from his shoulders down to his feet. Puck's smile brightens.

"I am told they are a great hindrance to straight roads and fair travel."

[forewarned_is]

"Are they?" As though she's never heard of such a thing.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

He nods soberly.

"That they are, mistress. Terrible mischievous things, yet they dog me Fridays, Saturdays and all."

[forewarned_is]

"And you, of course, don't have the faintest trace of mischief in you."

Equally solemn, with amusement behind it.

[river_meimei]

Puck is totally cheating.

However, River (for once) is not saying this, with words or with facial expression. Instead, she's watching with her head cocked to one side, and a look of distant fascination on her face.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck, for his part, has not seen her.

It might behoove him to be more on the alert for potential danger, since his life is ... you know, what it is. However, for the moment, all he does is give a twisting leap into the air, as if he were a fish leaping midstream. He manages to catch himself before he hits the ice, lights trailing him like a comet's tail as he rolls off to one side and pushes himself back up to his feet.

His laughter echoes across the frozen lake, bright and cold.

[river_meimei]

River doesn't laugh along. She's in the wrong mood, perhaps; or perhaps it's that Puck's laughter is silvery and inhuman, like a delighted shiver of the night air, and River's would be human entirely.

But she does smile, very faintly.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

He does this a time or two more before he catches sight of River, and hastily jumps to his feet, whereupon he makes a show of straightening his collar and brushing off his trousers.

"Well-- a good even to thee, mistress."

[river_meimei]

Okay, now River does laugh. But it's just a breath, swift and barely audible, and gone again into dreaminess. (Slightly chilly dreaminess. River has a tendency to underdress for winter weather, although Bar helps by loaning her sweaters or coats unasked.)

"You found the ice," she says, faintly approving.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck grins.

"My feet have found it, at the very least," he admits modestly.

"And by their report, they find it more than passing cold."

[river_meimei]

"...It's a facet of the Brownian region," River says, helpfully.

Read: as if reminding Puck of an obvious fact he's surely just forgotten for a moment.

"Inherent in the solids."

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

"... Indeed," Puck says, wrinkling his nose.

Also: wiggling his toes.

"And, like the facet of a gem, it is a marvelous catcher of light. How do you this night, dearest River?"

[sidhe_king]

Hidden among the trees is a figure being very quiet; he's more or less watching Puck, but not making any move to be noticed--rather the contrary, he wants to be unseen. And Finvarra is good at that.

Watching the English fae is...interesting, he decides.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

And really, Puck can do paranoia with the best of them-- but on this night, he is decidedly not paying much attention to much of anything.

He does not see Finvarra, therefore.

In the meantime, having leapt about for some time now, he takes a moment to throw himself down on the ice, pondering the water below and the stars above.

Life was more interesting with the shark about.

[sidhe_king]

This might be a good time to say hello, having been presented the opportunity--





There is, then, a stag at the edge of the lake, head dipped to lick at the ice on the fringes of the shore in curiosity. He might venture out to the more solid surface in moment.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

The presence of the stag creeps in at the edges of his awareness, bit by bit, and Puck sits up slowly, turning to look.

He doesn't quite look wary, as the months have passed and no ill been done between them, one to the other. But he is still cautious, and perhaps waiting to see what the stag will do next.

[sidhe_king]

The stag raises its head slowly, blinking once, and steps out towards Puck, gentle and almost cautious the way it moves.

Perhaps it's the ice, perhaps the company; either way, it doesn't seem fazed by the slow journey.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck tracks the creature's progress without moving.

"Hullo," he says after a moment, the call pitched softly across the ice.

[sidhe_king]

"Hello," he calls back, seamlessly turning back to human. "You are good on the ice."

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

"I think I am glad of it," Puck replies, cheerful.

"In so many other respects I am horrid."