SION ASTAL. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sunderings) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pawnstorm2016-02-13 10:37 am
sunderings) wrote in pawnstorm2016-02-13 10:37 am
[open] 'cause, baby, you're a firework
Who: Sion Astal & You!
When: February 10th - 13th.
Where: Hero Hall, Caissa Orphanage, Kabe Market.
What: Fireworks and job opportunities (building snowmen & gathering lost items).
Rating: PG...! For now.
February 10th ⇰ The Roof of Hero Hall | Fireworks!
[ Sion stands atop the ledge of the roof in the dark, the fireworks of First Bloom visible even here, at a distance, the explosions of color raining down against the stars. The display is a beautiful one, though as it progresses, Sion's expression twists, contorts. It might be glimpsed, in profile, as the light of the fireworks reflect upon his face, that while he is surely smiling, it seems as though he is crying as well, even if no tears fall.
He remembers: a night in the rain, the clash of two only ever intended for each other, and the words no matter how far you sink into darkness, how hard it becomes to escape dark places... I won't ever give up on you, Sion Astal!.
(And to think, that such a thing had come to pass in the wake of the new hope to be found in fireworks, in their blooming bursts and thundering crescendos.) ]
Should you not be enjoying the festivities below? [ —he is aware, in that moment, of a second presence upon the roof, though Fiole is the one to investigate first, flapping about and singing to the newcomer in greeting. And the expression Sion once wore... disappeared in an instant, as though it never existed at all. Instead, he is smiling, and from the very depths of his heart, it is warm. ] It is the last night of First Bloom, so I would urge you to not become absorbed in melancholy as I have, and quickly go.
[ Who knows, after all? Gloom may very well be contagious. ]
February 12th ⇰ Caissa Orphanage | Build a Snowman!
[ Ah, how quickly it had escalated.
Had his own ambition lead him here, to the cusp of his own demise? Or had it been weakness, some unnamed flaw in him, which lead him to be so easily moved by the children's own high spirits when they'd cried: taller, Mr. Sion, it has to reach higher!.
In the end, perhaps, how he'd gotten to this point mattered so very little when the thought of how to progress further came to mind. Before him: a snowman (a monstrous, behemoth of a snowman) so great in size that while it stands, two-thirds completed, there is no way for a single man to hoist the structure's head (and it is a boulder of snow, compacted by the manyjam hands of children) onto the second tier.
For this task, the strength of another someone will most certainly be required, and Sion wastes no time in recruiting anyone in uniform: ]
You there, Hero! Please lend us your aid, we've quite nearly finished here.
February 13th ⇰ Kabe Market | Lost Items!
[ Thieves. The band of them (and they are rascals, the entirety of the lot!) had taken to scavenging the whole of Caissa for items which had been deemed lost, stolen first by the likes of the festival's honored guests (monkeys, smartly dressed for what they truly were: pickpockets at best!), only to be 'liberated' by their hands, the small treasures (a gilded pocket watch, engraved with words of wisdom; a cameo necklace, depicting a mother and son) brought to a central location where they might be appraised, then divided amongst all present.
Or rather, they would have been, if not for the interference of one (1), Sion Astal. For the better portion of the day, he'd tracked the motley crew, surveying the operation from afar as they amassed their spoils, awaiting the opportune moment to appear: the instant when the trio disappeared into the depths of an alleyway, convening there.
It is a trap, one which Sion had hoped the thieves might lay, for as the afternoon dwindled, and as evening bled into a brisk winter's night, he'd given them hints (deliberate glimpses of a shadow, the echo of disembodied footfalls) of his pursuit, toying with them until they'd conveniently sequestered themselves away (there is, after all, no great need to make a scene).
Amusing to him, that they meant to confront him; that they imagined they might emerge victorious from...!
A fight which he doesn't intend to start.
Sion makes his entrance, with Fiole upon his shoulder and Guiding Light at his side, and suddenly the alleyway is bright, for the Hero King of Roland is no looming specter or shade, but a beacon which can be neither gazed upon or ignored. ]
Return to me the items which you've taken, and I will see them delivered to their rightful owners. [ But wait, there's more? ] And for the effort you've put forth into recovering the articles, I will grant you a Hero's reward.
[ Two of three thieves give pause, hesitant but considering (a reward?), but the third will absolutely not have the offer, and in the blink of an eye, the man lunges forward with a knife, leaving Sion in imminent peril...!
But Sion doesn't move, he doesn't lift a hand to reach for his sword.
Perhaps he is aware of another party who lingers, yet, at the mouth of the alleyway, and is curious to find if they will play a part. But more likely, he is certain in his own ability to contend with this scenario.
Still, though, there is the question: what action will you take, if any at all? ]
When: February 10th - 13th.
Where: Hero Hall, Caissa Orphanage, Kabe Market.
What: Fireworks and job opportunities (building snowmen & gathering lost items).
Rating: PG...! For now.
February 10th ⇰ The Roof of Hero Hall | Fireworks!
[ Sion stands atop the ledge of the roof in the dark, the fireworks of First Bloom visible even here, at a distance, the explosions of color raining down against the stars. The display is a beautiful one, though as it progresses, Sion's expression twists, contorts. It might be glimpsed, in profile, as the light of the fireworks reflect upon his face, that while he is surely smiling, it seems as though he is crying as well, even if no tears fall.
He remembers: a night in the rain, the clash of two only ever intended for each other, and the words no matter how far you sink into darkness, how hard it becomes to escape dark places... I won't ever give up on you, Sion Astal!.
(And to think, that such a thing had come to pass in the wake of the new hope to be found in fireworks, in their blooming bursts and thundering crescendos.) ]
Should you not be enjoying the festivities below? [ —he is aware, in that moment, of a second presence upon the roof, though Fiole is the one to investigate first, flapping about and singing to the newcomer in greeting. And the expression Sion once wore... disappeared in an instant, as though it never existed at all. Instead, he is smiling, and from the very depths of his heart, it is warm. ] It is the last night of First Bloom, so I would urge you to not become absorbed in melancholy as I have, and quickly go.
[ Who knows, after all? Gloom may very well be contagious. ]
February 12th ⇰ Caissa Orphanage | Build a Snowman!
[ Ah, how quickly it had escalated.
Had his own ambition lead him here, to the cusp of his own demise? Or had it been weakness, some unnamed flaw in him, which lead him to be so easily moved by the children's own high spirits when they'd cried: taller, Mr. Sion, it has to reach higher!.
In the end, perhaps, how he'd gotten to this point mattered so very little when the thought of how to progress further came to mind. Before him: a snowman (a monstrous, behemoth of a snowman) so great in size that while it stands, two-thirds completed, there is no way for a single man to hoist the structure's head (and it is a boulder of snow, compacted by the many
For this task, the strength of another someone will most certainly be required, and Sion wastes no time in recruiting anyone in uniform: ]
You there, Hero! Please lend us your aid, we've quite nearly finished here.
February 13th ⇰ Kabe Market | Lost Items!
[ Thieves. The band of them (and they are rascals, the entirety of the lot!) had taken to scavenging the whole of Caissa for items which had been deemed lost, stolen first by the likes of the festival's honored guests (monkeys, smartly dressed for what they truly were: pickpockets at best!), only to be 'liberated' by their hands, the small treasures (a gilded pocket watch, engraved with words of wisdom; a cameo necklace, depicting a mother and son) brought to a central location where they might be appraised, then divided amongst all present.
Or rather, they would have been, if not for the interference of one (1), Sion Astal. For the better portion of the day, he'd tracked the motley crew, surveying the operation from afar as they amassed their spoils, awaiting the opportune moment to appear: the instant when the trio disappeared into the depths of an alleyway, convening there.
It is a trap, one which Sion had hoped the thieves might lay, for as the afternoon dwindled, and as evening bled into a brisk winter's night, he'd given them hints (deliberate glimpses of a shadow, the echo of disembodied footfalls) of his pursuit, toying with them until they'd conveniently sequestered themselves away (there is, after all, no great need to make a scene).
Amusing to him, that they meant to confront him; that they imagined they might emerge victorious from...!
A fight which he doesn't intend to start.
Sion makes his entrance, with Fiole upon his shoulder and Guiding Light at his side, and suddenly the alleyway is bright, for the Hero King of Roland is no looming specter or shade, but a beacon which can be neither gazed upon or ignored. ]
Return to me the items which you've taken, and I will see them delivered to their rightful owners. [ But wait, there's more? ] And for the effort you've put forth into recovering the articles, I will grant you a Hero's reward.
[ Two of three thieves give pause, hesitant but considering (a reward?), but the third will absolutely not have the offer, and in the blink of an eye, the man lunges forward with a knife, leaving Sion in imminent peril...!
But Sion doesn't move, he doesn't lift a hand to reach for his sword.
Perhaps he is aware of another party who lingers, yet, at the mouth of the alleyway, and is curious to find if they will play a part. But more likely, he is certain in his own ability to contend with this scenario.
Still, though, there is the question: what action will you take, if any at all? ]
Snowman
[ Maria had been passing by and noticed the kids playing but was a bit too shy to jump in and help them out before. But now it seems like there was no escaping getting pulled into it. ]
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You and no other, my Lady.
[ She's hesitant, he realizes, touched by the gentle happiness of children at play, yet much too shy (or perhaps too reserved!) to offer her hand and take part. Bidding (a momentary!) farewell to all gathered by the snowman's base, he makes a valiant promise to return, and to return with triumph, for there may be a time when the strength of Heroes fail, but it will not be on this day—no, today a snowman will rise! ]
I fear I must briefly depart in the interest in obtaining supplies— [ He gestures, then, with a small flourish of wrist, to the head of the snowman, quite clearly much too large to be so simply lifted to where it so rightfully belonged: atop its own body! ] —for we've run into something of a conundrum.
Would you keep watch over the children, for a time? I will not be gone long, but...
[ He would not leave them, the youth who could swarm into a mass of energetic terrors at any given time, without a chaperone. ]
...in my absence, I would not want for something to go awry.
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I'll keep watch, these children need someone to play with in the mean time.
[ Maria did want to help and play with them, and now there was no getting out of it. At least it would only be for a little bit till the solution to the problem could be found. ]
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My name is Sion, Sion Astal, and I will return your side as soon as I am able. You've my thanks.
[ He takes his leave, after that, bidding a brief farewell to the children with a wave of his hand...! And when he returns (he hadn't ventured far, merely to the shed flanking the orphanage!), it is with two pieces of timber in hand, their purpose clear: to function as parts of a ramp. But that is hardly curious, what's interesting here is how the Lady has kept the children occupied.
How is it, then, that she's managed? ]
fireworks...
Am I not enjoying them now?
[Gilgamesh greets Fiole with surprising gentleness, an easy glide of his hand across its body. What a pretty Carrier, he thinks, unlike his slime of a snake. He meets that false warmth with an inquisitive tilt of his head, stepping forward to join him as if that prior animosity never existed between them at all.]
And what sort of melancholy might envelope the likes of a Hero? It is a malaise ill-suited to one of your position.
[It's not judgmental, not really. But he's curious as to how a man who held himself so high against him had apparently fallen so low.]
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[ Where the warmth of his smile had been false, his answer is guileless, much too honest of a thing. When had he last spoken so frankly, so freely? Never, is the answer. By virtue and by nature, Sion is a man who seldom speaks of himself, who confesses to no one and weaves falsehoods to protect, but there is no soul in need of shielding here, only the rival who he'd crossed blades with in days past.
May we soon meet again, he'd said, but he'd not expected it to be in such a fashion, never like this.
His eyes turn skyward, the upturn of his lips diminishing into a thin line, and for a moment, it seems as though he'll not speak again, that is until he lifts his hands, gesturing into the night. ]
For a man I could not kill, who once gave to me such a present— [ Fireworks, in celebration of his birthday, the Hero King's twentieth year. ] —the sky, rent apart by his color and his flame, his faith in the beautiful picture I illustrated written upon the face of the heavens for all to see.
[ But, in the end, Sion hadn't the strength to (kill) save that man, only to (let live) condemn. ]
Heroes and Kings, perhaps most of all, should know loss. [ For it is humanizing, is it not? And for Sion, whose light is not light at all, but simply the void, black, emptiness of the world which ate all the color and texture of life away, feeling this much is a momentous occasion. ] The love born from it is a humbling, powerful thing.
[ And a force to be reckoned with, that is for certain. It is not ill-suited to him at all. ]
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However, he can express no measure of empathy to this man. His eyes are cold as he listens to his speech. His heart does not feel anything for him. Gilgamesh had no tears left to shed for anyone else. The King's path, by definition, was a lonely one. In bearing his crown, surely Sion understood this as well. That was the lasting burden of kingship; tomorrow's horizon was always observed alone.
Gilgamesh glances to the fireworks, hands in his pockets, and addresses Sion thus:]
It can also be a cleansing fire. A burning wake. A flame with which we may destroy the past and start anew.
[So proclaims the man bound by his own, who was never able to move on. Gilgamesh never did recognize hypocrisy when it hit him in the face.]
Why mourn? You mourn your own majesty with it. I find it pitiful what you preach.
[So proclaims the man without an ounce of pity within him.]
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[ —he asks, for surely Gilgamesh knows the answer why for himself, Sion needn't say another word. But he does, so spurred by the moment, for his intent had never been to garner tears, but common ground, even if it should not be something which the other man would so readily cede to him.
Hadn't Gilgamesh been the one to say the words?: then we understand each other. ]
Have you not loved someone enough to become their tomb, a testament to their joys and sorrows, embodying all the light which they had yet to offer the world? Or are you more like the Gods, the ones who forged you, than even you realize? Fraught with madness, those creatures cannot understand love, they can only take it, and even then...
[ Even then, there is hope.
Upon Sion's outstretched arm, Fiole takes his perch, and in this pause, Sion looks at Gilgamesh—well and truly looks—studying him as though he meant to seize the heart of him with his stare alone. ]
They cannot infringe upon it, for while it is pitiful, much too fragile and sad, so too is it the force which turns the world.
[ And it is because he loved everyone, became enamored with some facet of each and every person he met, that Sion made to actualize their aspirations and dreams, and saw himself crowned King to safeguard them. But one wish rang in his ears louder than most, and out of all those he carried, it had been the most burdensome, the most difficult to struggle toward.
A kingdom where no one knew loss, where everyone could laugh and smile foolishly without having to cry, where everyone might be able to enjoy the simple leisure of an afternoon nap...
This childish, foolhardy dream which would surely lead all those who pursued it into ruin...
Sion would manage it. He could. ]
There is no greater majesty than that.
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[Gilgamesh offers the answer freely, though he does look away from those intense eyes, momentarily thrown by the question. He sees no need to hide the information. He not ashamed of the story told within his Epic. Even if there was great tragedy, there was great triumph as well. It painted him in the light of a grand King and even grander Hero. Even if he mourned, even if he lost himself, his center held and his true throne would never tarnish.
Gilgamesh sinks to sit on the edge of the roof, and like this they don't really look like anything all that great but two handsome young men instead. Two boys who had grown too big for the responsibility bearing down on them. Who followed foolish dreams instead of the wisdom of their betters and so paid the price for it.
His own eyes flicker in the dark, always that same disturbing shade of bloody red.]
But no longer. My path was destined for progress. I hold my head high—
[Not entirely true. Gilgamesh's path had stalled long ago. If only saying it made it so. At least he sounds confident enough in the lie. He shakes his head; he leans back.]
I press on. There is nothing more for me to do.
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However he toiled and however he suffered, Sion Astal would never turn back, he would neither falter nor waver—he could only ever walk forward through the mire and mud of his own making, each and every step he took forward bringing him closer to the future, just out of reach.
But the path he walked on so too flirted with despair, the way so embedded and entrenched with calamity that if Sion were but to falter, to misstep just once, then all would be forfeit. He would lose himself, and the world would be reset once again.
(Hero, hero, my lovely hero... are you intending to devour the world again? Why do you not accept our salvation?) ]
To what end? [ The fireworks before them begin to build to a finale, the flare of rockets and bursts of colors slowing, first, before renewing their momentum, their sound thunderous and reverberating through Sion where he stands. ] What awaits you there, upon your path? What is it that you wish to find as you walk, with your head held high?
[ Implicitly, he asks: what meaning is there?. ]
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snowman
In any case, the moment that Sion addresses a 'hero', Ichigo looks around for any sign of other heroes around him. There isn't one but himself around, apparently. ]
Me? [ Well... Ichigo makes a small, nervous laugh before he approaches Sion. ] I'm not sure whether I could be of any help, but I shall aid you.
Please tell me what to do.
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[ Hands placed squarely atop his hips, he offers his comrade a bright smile, a nod of his head as he gestures to the boulder of snow which is...! Well, it's a bit sad, isn't it, the blank canvas that it is. ]
It will take no small feat of strength, I imagine, to hoist this creature's head atop its own shoulders, but before we make the attempt...! [ Glancing down at the children, Sion rocks back and forth upon his heels, and it is as though his decision may very well shake the foundation of the universe itself when he proclaims: ] We should give our creation a face.
[ A face!, echoes a girl, her blue hat balanced precariously atop her pigtails, and it with eager, small hands that she reaches for the coal meant to function as the snowman's eyes. And upon Sion's gentle insistence to 'share' with the newcomer, the child presents Ichigo with two pieces. ]
By all means, do us the honor. [ ...no pressure at all, right???]
Do you want to build a snowhemoth?
I'll help, as long as I'm getting paid. Where's Madame Mimi?
[There was no point in working for nothing. As much as he would prefer to look for lost items, he had not received another request just yet this day. He might as well earn a bit of colle here.]
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[ But please, do take care not to mention getting paid in front of the children again. It's much too dispiriting a thing, knowing that a helping hand is only only as much on account of colle. ]
I'm curious, how might you go about moving— [ He gestures, then, to the head of the snowman, something which can only be described as that thing...! ] —it from point 'a', to point 'b'?
[ Point 'b' being, quite naturally, atop the midsection of Sion's monstrous design and untamed ambition. ]
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You don't know? You should've thought of that first.
[He shook his head. He had a few ideas already, it was not the first time he worked here, but he was not about to share them just yet. There was still that matter of money and Sion here was not the person he needed to talk about it with.]
Wait here. I'll be back soon. Watch the kids.
[Rory left, and, after speaking with orphanage matron, he came back with one arm carrying ladders and the other arm holding shovels. He just hoped they did not somehow make it even bigger in the time he was gone.]
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I hadn't expected you to return.
[ —Sion greets the man with a slow loft brow, an appraising stare. Who is this person to laugh, to dole out orders so freely, and then, of all things, keep true to his word?
Intrigued and disdainful in turns, Sion's smile never falters, but is kept neatly in place for the children. ]
...or to bring with you nearly so much. [ He'll not deny it, the other man is strong. ] But surely, you must be tired from the walk, from carrying such a heavy load. You'll not be blamed if you cannot continue on from here.
[ Funny, how Sion's voice rings as nothing but cordial and polite. But to the discerning ear, there is a summons, there, in those words: shape up or take your leave, I haven't any use for ruffians here. ]
Let us take the shovels then, the ladders.
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Tired? We're just getting started.
[He turned the shovels around his arm and stuck them into the snow so that they stood upward. However, he walked passed them and began setting the three ladders up by the incomplete snowman, with or without help. He noticed that there was timber that was not here before. It was unnecessary now, but at least showed this man was not a complete idiot.]
Leave the shovels. I don't need them yet.
[Once the ladders were secure, he approached the snow-boulder. He checked for two things: how compacted the snow was and its weight. After giving it a shove, he found that, while it was too heavy to manage on his own, he could still roll it.]
How strong are you?
[His tone was neutral. This was a question, not a challenge. The last thing he wanted was this man overestimating his own strength and becoming a risk to his own and others' safety.]
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[So it turns out his roommate was as much of a non-agent as he was, but he still approaches him with a front of coldness, even with this display of what looked like some humanity for once. Still, he can't help but be a little captivated by Fiole; he never seen such a bird as this. He tentatively extends a finger. Would it be tame enough to perch on his hand? He would feel lucky if it did.]
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[ —though Sion's voice is soft, still somber with memory, it carries well over the backdrop of fireworks. And where Potemkin bridges the distance between them, aloof and distant as always, the Hero King is no longer so absorbed in his own farce of perfection; the flawless veneer of a smile. Instead, he is welcoming, as is his carrier: Fiole comes to perch neatly atop Potemkin's outstretched hand, the little phoenix cooing as it nestles there. ]
Once, I even fled my own birthday celebration by way of horse drawn carriage so that I would not have to partake in the festivities.
[ But that is in the past, is it not? It should be buried there. Turning to better face the other man, Sion cannot help but observe: ]
It seems Fiole's taken a liking to you. [ And the juxtaposition of the two, his roommate and his carrier, only serves to call to mind the image of a gentle giant. ] I've not known him to be nearly so friendly with any other.
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[Potemkin is fine to stay still and let Fiole sit as he pleases. Unfortunately, this means he cannot move away or leave from the person begging him to leave. There is a moment of awkwardness and silence from Potemkin before he takes this an an opportunity to air some issues that shouldn't be run away from.]
I apologize for my treatment of you at our meeting. That was undeserved.
[Now it's all up to Sion's actions to prove his character.]
snowman!
The day before the fire, but Alice remembers that it wasn't very good snow to construct anything -- too soppy and wet. To ensure that it's not the case here, she leans down to take a small fist of it. ]
It's good snow to make things in.
[ She's telling the children, not Sion. The children force her to be kinder, push her to help someone she wasn't sure if she was happy or upset to see again. ]
I have a name, sir, and it's not "Hero".
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[ Alice. Even if she should bear uncertain feelings upon meeting him again, Sion finds himself only relieved to see that she is well. Giving pause, he watches as Alice leans down, taking the freshly-fallen snow into hand so gingerly that it seemed she were almost reverent of it in her study. He wonders, then, what it might mean to her, and what it had meant to her on the morning when they met: how he'd been near desperate, then, to prize the information which he'd needed free of her grasp, and in the end, it had served neither of them.
But perhaps...
Perhaps she'd been able to find her rest, after that, tucked away in the library.
He bows to her, then, the flat of his palm placed upon his heart as he addresses the children: ]
—I present to you the most gracious Lady Liddell, she who is more radiant than any other, the Hero who will most assuredly lend us her strength so that we might raise Mr...!
[ Ah, what had their name for the snowman been? A little girl takes care to remind him in short suit, her small hands tugging lightly upon his braid. ]
Mr. Twinkles to his full height. [ And oh, how the Hero King is thoroughly unabashed in his proclamation, clearly given to his cause...! ] But first, we should finish with the decorations. After all Mr. Twinkles will need his nose and eyes.
[ And it's for the best that such things are applied before they join the head to the body, if only on account of the structure's size.
The children, then, scramble for the embellishments they've gathered: rounds of coal, an array of stones, three carrots of varying size, sequined beads, and some manner of wreathed vegetation which the Hero King does not quite recognize. Eagerly, the very same girl which had once tugged Sion's braid, offers to Alice the first pick of the lot...!
And then, all eyes are upon the Lady: how will she choose to so adorn their snowman, Mr. Twinkles, the behemoth? ]
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The name of the snowman snaps her back into reality. Normally she's not this spacey. ]
Mr. Twinkles?
[ It's an odd name, one that she's assuming was picked by the children. Alice scans the snowman over, eyes bouncing hesitantly between Sion and the snowman. It's been some time that Alice has seen Sion, but it hasn't erased the awkwardness; his question, to her, had been presumptuous and may have frightened her. Suffice to say, the stress of her transition and her encounter with him made it difficult to sleep.
Something feels like it's crawling across her cheeks -- the cold, maybe? No, just a soft bloom of pink across her pale features. Radiant? Alice takes a hand to her cheeks, to rub off the crawling sensation from her skin.
Aside from being unaccustomed to flustered, she can't recall that anyone would refer her in such a way. It does nothing to deter her from him; why should it, if she's never been flustered before. ]
Oh... thank you.
[ She offers up a smile - a real smile - to the small girl and takes a few pieces of coal, pressing them into the would-be head. ]
Is this why he's called "Mr. Twinkles"?
[ Sequined beads are all fine and good, a little unusual for a snowman. But Alice starts to make the snowman's grin is something more cat-like and wide. She's grateful that it doesn't seem to frighten the children here as it did back in London. When they start to giggle, her shoulders drop and Alice's posture eases. ]
A shame, I would have saved these little jewels- [ Or whatever they were called. ] for something else. Wouldn't you? What happens when the snow melts?
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To match the cat-like grin, Sion helps the youngest of the group press the sequined beads into the mass of snow by delineating the shape of eyes, marking where each, the right and the left, should take their place above Mr. Twinkles' smile. ]
They might always be collected again, when the snow begins to melt. [ He gives pause, then, helping little hands to place the second eye proportionally to the first! ] Why not enjoy how they catch the light, now?
[ To the children: ] I say, the sparkle in his eyes makes him look quite nearly alive! Do you think Mr. Twinkles will give us a wink after we've put him together?
[ Let's find out! one child chimes, and I don't know... says another, and the littlest one, no taller than Sion's hip, merely stares up at him with wonder and quiet dark eyes. ]
The nose, then, Lady Alice?
[ —he hums, clearly at ease, his golden eyes seeking out her own. ]
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She's in her absolute element. Still, she can't explain why the sequins being lost would be such a sad thing. ]
It still seems like such a waste to use these pretty little jewels.
[ Is that what they're called? She's not sure. With the children chiming in, Alice finally stops, her eyes shifting down to them; there's quite a number of little eyes on her and suddenly, Alice finds herself a little overwhelmed.
Even decorating the snowman isn't enough to her. There has to be more to keep them happy -- isn't there? As for the nose, Alice finds herself twisting her face in mid thought. She wants to use a different nose than a carrot.
After all, what's cat-like about a carrot? Alice doesn't argue with the children, she puts it firmly and securely between the twinkly eyes of the cat. ]
There we are. Will that do, little ones?
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