A Summer Barbaric of Shenanigans
Filly worked solidly for a full week on her painting. It was unlike any other piece she’d created. The colors in the background were brilliant reflections of peaceful sunsets that might delight any sailor or shepherd. While the foreground represented the undershelf homeland she’d shared with the Lords of Ragefall. Crashing waves upon rocky platforms and grassy cliffs effervesced in a visual celebration of cacophony.
During her personal hours, away from her directorial duties with the children, she shared linked on conversations with Chamberlin Kaid and other Ragefall followers. Her mobile communique often sang with the animal noises and short musical reminiscences that signified customized notifications.
It was reported that Prince Vilhelm’s lovely young Lady was struggling in her current state of being-with-child, while traveling the harsh road of caravan life. Her healers insisted she return to Under Olland for rest and healing, until the child was brought forth. The younger Prince, being loyal and eager for his wee-bairn to be brought forth healthily, returned with his lady and kept her company close. He would return to tour with his fellow Lords of Ragefall after the child graced forth into this present living.
Filly also discovered that Kaid’s natal day celebrations were near to hand. She thought to make a cake for him to celebrate, as he was so far from home. Yet, for homesickness sake, the cake she had in mind was one aligned with Undershelf tradition. She would spin eggs and sugar together in a light and crispy Pavlova… if she could remember how it was done.
“I love those colors,” twittered a wood-faerie.
The two fae girls, accustomed to playing with Filly’s hair, flittered around her painting. It was only partially finished. Filly smiled and stared at it from where she stood, away at the temporary kitchenette, set up by the cooking fire.
“I have something more in mind,” she answered. “I’m just trying to visualize what I see in my mind more clearly, before I can bring it into physical reality. That requires a lot of time spent just looking at it, from a distance.”
Filly paused with an electric beater poised in her hand, halfway through whipping up several egg whites in sugar.
“I’m just not sure I can relate onto the canvas, what I see in here.” She tapped her noggin with her finger and accidentally got half beaten meringue in her hair.
Sighing and laughing at herself, she muttered,
“I’m such a mess.”
She wiped the sticky, white sweetness off. The fae girls laughed with her.
One of them, Czelle, stood on the counter, with hands on hips (looking much like a larger version of the famed Tinkerbell). She tilted her head back and forth from side to side, taking in various angles of the painted vision. Her wings flitted and glistened in the late afternoon sun, and the Skyling light flashed off them in tiny points of vibrant color.
Filly watched the faerie from behind and a slow smile began to melt into her contemplative frown.
“Thank you, Czelle. Now, I know what to do.” Filly announced.
“What’d I do?” retorted Czelle.
“You are beautiful.” Assured the Oracle.
Czelle blushed and giggled.
Knetta, the other wood faerie, batted unbelieving eyelids. She checked Filly’s face to see if omission was intended.
Filly laughed and concurred,
“Of course, you are included in that, Knetta. You’re both most beautiful.”
The two fae smiled in childish pride.
Filly teased them,
“It’s in your dusty blood, after all. You simply can’t help it.”
Knetta joined in the joke and responded with sarcastic martyrdom,
“Someone has to do it.”
Czelle agreed in consolation,
“It might as well be us.”
The three laughed together while egg whites rose up in joy, to stiffen as soft peaks beneath an electrical beating. Filly paused her hand-held machine and tested the mixture.
“Mmmmmmm, delicious.” She moaned. “I really hope I don’t mess this up.”
Gently folding cream-of-tarter into the fluffy sweetness, Filly then tenderly spooned the mixture, in two parts, onto a flat cooking paper and smoothly set it into the ceramic oven, seated over the fire.
Closing the door, the out of practice cook crossed her fingers and spoke a quick prayer over her creation. She then shrugged and set a timer, saying,
“I guess we’ll see.”
“Pavlova’s are temperamental.” Czelle agreed, peaking through the small glass door.
She kissed her fingers and tapped the oven, giving her well wishes for deliciousness.
“What’s your new idea?” Knetta asked, glancing back at the painting.
“Wings.” Declared Filly.
The wood-fae girls squealed and flew in place like excited little girls in Sunday curls.
“That smells good,” Marin offered, sniffing and licking his lips.
His sudden descent from the transport shook the hovering craft, mildly.
“Well, I made two. One is for the Chamberlin’s birthday. The other…” Filly teased, “is for those who are kind and worthy of sweet attention.”
“I’ll make my sweet attentions worth your time.” He teased back, wrapping his arms around her in a flirtatious hug and quickly licking her ear.
“Staahp.” Filly giggled, not moving away from him.
He held her a moment longer and kissed the side of her head. Then he moved off and paused at her painting to encouraged her,
“This is looking interesting. I’ll be back in time for more dessert.” He winked and wandered on.
Czelle furrowed her smile and complained,
“Why do you let him handle you like that?”
Filly smiled in mild guilt.
“Honestly?” she asked.
“Yes. Honestly.” Knetta demanded in young fae innocence.
Filly’s smile waned slightly. She confessed,
“Because, I like the attention.”
“But….” Czelle was about to remind her of the imminent arrival of her imposing suitor.
Filly interrupted her,
“We’re all lonely here, sweetheart. And the future is never guaranteed.”
Knetta pouted in confusion.
“A complicated people, are we large-folk.” Filly reassured her. “And I truly have no idea if Captain Jeremiah has any interest or availability for me in his life… it’s been a long time since I saw him last.”
“I’m so glad I can’t hold as many emotions inside me, as you.” Knetta snorted in disgust at the idea.
“I would burst apart!” Czelle agreed emphatically.
Filly moved off to walk alone while waiting for the Pavlova timer to ring.
She spoke aloud to her own heart,
“All water runs deep in an ocean wide.”
Filly sat at her arting station, again. The pavlova timer was attended to and the oven moved off the main heat. It now sat a while in lower temperatures to slowly cook up light fluffiness. Filly pulled out a book of stiff paper and began sketching figures separately. She took note of the pictures she’d taken of the Lords and their instruments, in action.
When the figurines were satisfactorily outlined, Filly added what she saw in her mind and prophetically brought forth what was from the unseen soul realm, into the present visible world. She applied wings to each of the players. They were not like the faerie wings that had inspired her. These were masculine wings of black studded leather, like the armor a Bard might wear into battle, without hindering his magical spells.
The studs on these black wings varied in hue. The Princely brothers had one color: the red of passion and blood. Chancellor Ionny’s color was that of the kind blue waters that flowed creatively through his music. Chamberlin Kaid’s shimmered in a vibrant gold of joy and pure light.
The pavlovas were then taken out of the oven and set to cool in the evening air. Filly half expected Marin to show up again, soon. But she continued her art project by carving out each figurine, from the book she’d inked them in.
The drums were separate, with Kaid seated behind them. She placed his image on top, in the skyline, as he was the original source for divine favor upon the whole group. Through him, all power of joy and ecstatic passion poured with every beating of the drums. Kaid Rymket was the only “lead drummer” Filly had ever seen in a rock band.
Ionny, with his lead guitar, and his separate keys, were laid beside a pool of peace that reflected all their music back in a circle of creation. Vilhelm stood with his bass by crashing waves, where exuberant power rolled and met the solid strength of rock. Nikols, the Regent and leader, planted his feet, one on land and one in water, with sword held aloft; like words that pierced the night.
The wings of all three behind, pointed in varying northerly directions, lifting a declaration of Joy-filled power. But, Nikols bore the burden of full leadership. He was the front man and sword bearer; with that came the heavy mantle of humility. Thus, his wings pointed downward in acknowledgement that all leaders must be servants, first.
Filly appliqued the cutouts onto the painting and after it was dry, she lacquered the final layer with sparkling shimmers, to add a sheen of magic. She named the painting: Incarnate Joy, and was much pleased with its outcome.
The pavlovas were fully cooled now, and so Filly let her painting dry as she piled sweet cream on top of her desserts, with shavings of chocolate. That kept better on the move, rather than the typical fruit toppings.
On cue, the Count arrived and tested the cream for taste.
“Mmmm, cream.” He smirked then quickly dabbed a poke of sticky white onto Filly’s nose.
She moved to quickly for him, though, and the flick landed on her cheek.
“That looks good on your face.” He implied with masculine connotation.
Filly was restless after her long day of creating. So, she wiped the blob of cream off with her middle finger. Then she sucked the entire length of her digit, closing the other fingers together in a fist, then she extended that solitary mid-finger up, with a sucking pop of her mouth.
Marin smirked, recognizing the Bacht gesture of rudeness. He had a human friend in the Trevel world who’d used the same gesture several times.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that was an invitation.” He coaxed her.
“It is, I assure you.” Filly smiled with sweet evil, “you’re more that welcome to go fek yourself.”
“That would be too selfish of me, my dear.” He stepped in closer to her, “when you want me to share my fekking with you.”
Filly weakened. He was relentless.
“You’re right. I would like it… if it was not so easily shared with every other booty on board your caravan.” She moved to plate-up one of the desserts in a travel container.
“I’m a generous man.” He countered and sat on the table’s edge, watching her.
She placed the packaged dessert in the cooler and then moved to cut the second one. Handing one slice to Marin, she kept one for herself and cut into it with her fork.
After tasting it, she shrugged,
“It’s certainly very sweet,” Marin offered.
“Pretty much all sugar and eggs-whites, really,” Filly giggled.
But she took encouragement from the silence Marin continued in, as he devoured the whole piece rather quickly; licking his lips, fingers, fork, and plate.
Filly finished her slice and admitted,
“It doesn’t taste nearly as good as the pavs made by the Queen of Leaf-fae. She taught me how to make them. Like a mother, she was, to me.”
Marin paused in wonder at the woman’s remarkable upbringing. But, Filly cast off his interest with,
“It’ll do, though. Kaid can either eat it, or not. I made it out of a generous and pure heart of friendship. That’s enough.”
Marin laughed at her,
Filly blushed, caught out in her crush.
“Sure, he’s lovely to look at and I ecstatically enjoy watching him play. We even have a nice connection in kindred heart, I think. But, I doubt anything more will ever be between us. He has far too many younger Ladies throwing themselves at him for anything more than harmless flirting to play between us. Thus, we are Friends.”
“Of course, you are.” Marin continued teasing her with implied unbelief.
“Can’t say, I wouldn’t kiss the fek out of him, given the chance,” she laughed loudly.
Marin stood and pulled her quickly to him, kissing her fully and deeply on the mouth.
“Like that?” he asked when he loosened his hold on her.
“Probably,” she teased.
Her hand reached up to gently trace the bones in his cheeks. This time, she kissed him. But as his hands moved to explore their embrace further, Filly leaned back quietly. She dropped her eyes, away from his face and whispered,
“I do so love kissing.” But, then she cleared her throat and stepped away from him.
Marin chuckled, satisfied to have broken down her boundaries thus far. He let enough alone… for now.
Filly turned to check her painting. It was dry and ready to be wrapped in decorative paper. When she turned back to collect scissors for the task, Marin was nowhere to be seen.
She sighed and shook her head, mumbling to herself,
If you would like to see more of Gregga’s books and other creative projects, check out her website: Gregga J. Johnn and Story-in-the-Wings.