)(( In Service on the Holy Day )( A Multi-Part Series )((

by Arcadia Caughey Tue Apr 28, 2009 11:18 pm

There was a temple on grounds that were once well-populated and traveled, but that have since been abandoned. Yet even when the land bustled with people the Oak Moon Temple was a structure that went almost entirely unnoticed. The first to notice that the structure was entirely overlooked was Arcadia - who better to see such a thing, than a woman who spent each of her nights walking the full of the large grounds and beyond for reasons of harvest, hunt, service or simple exploration? After keeping watch on the temple to be certain that she would not be robbing any of their haven, she cast an enchantment on it to make it her own.

To all but those who could travel through the mirror which hung within, the temple was cloaked from sight. To any who were in danger of walking towards the invisible structure, the energies coming off of it would itch at them until their instincts told them to swerve and avoid it. Even for those who possessed preternatural senses, the so-called 'disturbance in the force' they might feel would not lead them to the discovery of the structure - the firm walls of the edifice would somehow always remain just out of reach to their searching hands. So it had become her haven, the structure sanctified and transformed to become a place where Arcadia could do her most holy and precious rituals.

Her journey was one of hard work before she seemingly vanished from thin air as she stepped inside the temple cloaked from sight. Starting at the stroke of midnight, she began her walk southeast. Where she crossed a brook, stream, river or lake on her way she stopped to bless it with a wreathe of woven flowers collected with thanks from the blossoming brush around her. From each body of water she blessed she gathered a bit of its water. As the late evening hours waned into the budding hours of twilight she began to collect the Beltane dew, saying the blessing each time she did so. It was a task done against the clock - while she had to fill her jug so that she could draw the proper ritual bath she also had to reach the temple before the sun broke the horizon and burned her with its light.

The jug was filled, but barely. As she crossed the threshold into the sanctified space she could feel the burn of the sun about to claim the sky. The entranceway was low, hallway narrow, the craftsmanship of the temple modest. Its walls, however, had long ago been graced with the gifts of Arcadia - thick with vines that seemed to know the holy day as each ready bud was already proudly opened wide to display its delicate, deep violet flower. While all the temples windows and doors were shut tight now, when she was not within they were always left open so that the wealth of plant life within could be properly fed by the sun.

She greeted the plants in a soft affectionate murmur as she walked past them, and the vines rustled to speak their answer in return. Joyous words exchanged, as this was supposed to be a day of lighthearted celebration - the peak of spring, when all is lush and fertile once more. Into the main room of worship she walked, a chamber that was a far cry's difference from the aesthetics it once held when it had been used perhaps as long as a century ago. As was the case in the hall these walls were laden with vines, and the lattice work which covered areas of the domed ceiling afforded them extra surface to stretch as well.

Where the walls were not covered with vines, water trickled down structures of stone and filled the room with the sound of its travel, falling into a shallow well which lined the base of the walls. From cracks in the floor, boxwood bushes grew, filling the temple with their musky, earthy scent. At the very center there was a marble fount. Its base was three and a half feet high, belling outward to house the circular top which was three foot in diameter and four inches deep. A short walk forward to the part of the temple which faced the east and one would find a living alter table. A tree which grew in a most peculiar fashion - horizontally - allowing its singularly flat trunk to be used as a surface to conduct worship. That surface was nearly seven feet long before the branches spilled forth into a rich healthy canopy.

Upon the alter tree there sat all the rest of her needs for the day's ritual, gathered and prepared earlier this week in anticipation for this moment. It was the fount she went to first. Already half filled with water, she emptied the jug she carried of her evening's efforts almost entirely into the basin, leaving a quarter cup's worth in the jug for other purposes to come later in the ritual.

For now she shed her ritual robe, draping it carefully over the nearest of the boxwood bushes. Dipping a clean white cloth that was resting on the side of the basin into the water, she began the process of anointing herself with the water from head to foot. As she started her ritual she spoke the words in humble voice in the tongue of her homeland, "Mother of mine, of Earth / To you once more I heed / Once more plant inside / Within me your sacred seed / From your devoted Chosen / Your new beginnings may spring, / Once blessed with your dew first, / And next a draught of the offering."

When the process and the words were complete, Arcadia let out a slow exhale of air that she hadn't realized she was holding within her lungs. To serve, it was not always easy. This ritual in particular, it took her places that she was not entirely comfortable to go. But to serve, it was a commitment that burned deep in her spirit and blood. So as she slipped her robes back on and approached the altar, she kept her calm steady as she reminded herself of the one she would summon to do the ritual with her this night. Surely he would as always give her courage.

by Arcadia Caughey Fri May 01, 2009 12:04 am

...Surely he would as always give her courage. And the time was now to summon him, as she did for all of the holy day rituals. There on the altar rested a doll, one that had been taken from her a very long time ago when she was only eight-years-old. By the Elders, who sought to teach her a lesson about how her attachment to material things was a selfish act that did not serve the greater good as she was supposed to. As two of the Elders pulled her away screaming, the child Arcadia thought she saw for certain that they had thrown the doll - the only thing she'd had left of her father, who was the one to make it for her using her own visage - into the fire.

But back then, child that she was, she was wrong. For the Doctor had visited Donagal that day, in that moment, with his TARDIS and he took it from them just before it was given to the flames. He gave it as a gift to the fractured split of Arcadia's personality that had also been born that day, the Elders failed attempt to pull her materialism and other traits they felt the Legacy shouldn't have right out of her. From the moment Arcadia held the doll in her hands forward she wondered if the Doctor realized he'd given her something far more precious than a memento. But she never asked the question of him, for she knew what a precarious thing time was when it was stowed away in the mind of one man and so there were millions of questions he was simply unable to answer.

Arcadia was patient, she was reserved, and like Archer she was logical. She knew that the small scrap of curiosity that would be quenched with an answer to that question was trivial, and unneeded. She knew what the Doctor had given her, and that its value was beyond any price. That she could use it to do as she was about to do now, that was all that mattered.

It did not take much to establish the connection. Her palm laying flat on the front of the doll, pressing down gently. Her head bowed. Her eyes closed. Her lips mouthing the few words needed. It took so little energy because the connection was already there - through the legacy, through the blood, so much shared - it was really more of a summons than anything magical at all. A summons that simply needed the correct catalyst, which in this case was the doll that he'd made for her over seventy years ago.

When he manifested in the temple, Conaire announced his presence to her in the same way he always did. His voice, like hers, was a brogue that was calm but was also touched with a fondness for his daughter that he had not been able to show her in life since his death when she was only six years of age. It came from behind her, so close that he must have been there just over her shoulder. "I am here, m' bonny girl."

The smile was upon her face even before she turned so that she would see him with her own eyes. Or see this representation of him, slightly clouded because of the distance he traveled to be with her on nights like this. It was a nearly impossible journey to make from the Land of the Dead to here, but one that any of the Legacies could make when another of the bloodline had in their hands the proper catalyst to carry the call and bind the blood. It was a journey that could not be done every day, not even each month, though the nature of her smile surely spilled the secret that if it were possible to call upon her father each day of the year Arcadia would do it. Her voice, too, the nature of it now was probably a tone never heard by even those close to her - filled with a giddiness she felt she could barely contain.

"Da." It was spoken with a tremor of jubilation, as her violet eyes set upon him with love so great it could make her still heart crack open in an attempt to beat once more. "I've missed you, Da. It's Beltane." She added that with a sweep of her arm backward, indicating the altar she'd laid out the night before. "And I've gathered the dew. All that needs be done is pourin' it into th' May Cup, it's already prepared." A blend of wine, woodruff, lemon rind and the smallest bit of crushed strawberry, the traditional drink had to be stomached in order to move on with the ritual. One of the holy rituals she cared for the least, but if she could do it each moon as a price to see her father each time she would. That was a fraction of how much his presence meant to her.

"Aye." For his daughter he had a smile that was born in gentle affection. "If I didn't know it twere impossible I'd say I smelled its sweet scent, but alas." He moved this representation of him forward - it was much different from moving ones body in life, and yet in other ways similar. He moved one hand upwards. A gesture as if to stroke her cheek though he could not. To show her that if he could, she would receive such a touch from him. To soften the blow, perhaps, of his coming words. "It's why I wonder now at the lack of a second glass. For Archer."

His gesture was not enough to soften the blow that came with the mention of that name. When her father spoke it, all within her sank.

by Arcadia Caughey Sat May 02, 2009 4:05 pm

Her violet eyes left his for the first time, the sink she felt within enough to make her shift her weight as she held back her sigh. Arcadia's lips parted, only to close again. When she moved to speak a second time, she said only one word, drawn out in a tone of near childlike protest, "Da..." Before he could say anything in reply, Arcadia was shaking her head. As if she was denying or disagreeing with anything he said before her father had the chance to say it.

Empathy touched the representation of Conaire Caughey. Though he was her father, he looked only years older than his eternally youthful daughter. His life was ended at the hands of the Order when he was only twenty-eight, so in the Way of the spirit world in appearance he was eternally young as well. But appearance, as the wise said, was forever a deceiving thing. Though being housed in the Land of the Dead came with sizable limitations, it also opened the doors and made other formerly impossible things limitless. It was with such limitlessness that he spoke now. "The livin' Legacies are charged with performin' such rituals. I accept that half the fault is mine for allowin' you t' call on me as your partner for - "

"But Archer hates magic!" Usually Arcadia was the queen of restraint, the fortress of calm resolve, an impenetrable wall of cool and collected. Buts in these moments with her father...it was like having a parental figure in front of her set off this reflex permission for her to behave as impulsively and childishly as she was never able to since the day both of them were killed. So she didn't even wince when she blurted out - instead she kept going with her protesting insistence, "He makes sure t' tell me that! All the time! Even when we're not talkin' about magic out o' nowhere it's how much he hates magic!"

"Arcadia." He was so skilled at being resolutely firm and uncannily kind at the same time. All within just speaking her name. And within the cloudy representation of his eyes. He watched her silence at the sound of it, bowing his head in a single nod of thanks. "M' bonny girl, m' quick-witted lass, y' know better than t' hand me tommyrot like that when I sit as Watcher and see more o' your life than even your own eyes can see."

For the second time Arcadia turned her eyes away, this time to look at the floor as she did her utmost to keep herself from pouting like a frustrated little girl. "It's not tommyrot," she challenged quietly. With nothing more to say than that, she finally released her frustrated sigh.

"It is." He made the assertion sound so pleasant, like he was trying to rip off the bandage of this hurt as painlessly as possible for her. "Y' and Archer have fallen into a cycle, one that unlike th' seasons is neither healthy nor helpful." Conaire held up the representation of his hand then when he saw Arcadia stir. This time he did not wish to be interrupted before he got his point across. "It must come to an end, Arcadia. Before harm comes t' pass as a result o' your feudin'."

"Da, it's not that simply done!" It was obvious to her now that she and her father were not going to perform the final ritual anytime soon. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stalked over to one of the boxwood bushes. It leaves rustled and its branches lightly cracked as it shifted to provide her a seat within its musky shape and she spun and sat in the offered place with an undeniable sulk. "If y' see more o' me life than even m' own eyes can see y' should know that! Archer hates what I am, he hates that I won't take his cure, he hates that m' fractured, he hates that I wont' return t' Donagal. Accordin' t' him I'm selfish and irresponsible and usually the one t' blame. Speakin' with him is no more helpful than spittin' into the wind!"

He listened, and Conaire knew that he must tread with caution and chose his words wisely, or else the situation would worsen instead of improve. It was a fine line he was about to walk. He moved the representation of himself closer to her, so that he stood within her line of sight. "There are two sides to every coin, Arcadia. The pair o' ye can only see your own side, and not the other's. You, Arcadia, must find a way that y' can both be flipped over t' see the other's side. Until that happens, we will not see each other again."

That got her attention. When he moved in front of her she'd looked away to hide the flushed face of a scolded child, but when he said that her head snapped in his direction as she answered with heat in her tone. "M' bein' punished now, is that it?"

"Child, stay your temper." For the first time his voice was resolutely parental. A reminder to her who he was, even in death. "It is the reality, nothin' more. There is a road ahead, and both o' you are needed in harmony t' walk it. Despite all the hardships ye both have suffered, each o' you needs to remember the duties o' your blood. All the duties," he emphasized, "and not just those y' feel like tendin' to. We are the blood that serves th' greater good, and th' greater good now requires greater sacrifice."

"More sacrifice." It was muttered under her breath in a scorned tone. Only because he was her father she stayed her tongue and kept the rest of that sentiment unspoken.

by Arcadia Caughey Sun May 03, 2009 2:23 am

"More sacrifice." There was so much unsaid in those two words that came out through the manner in which she spoke them, mainly 'haven't I had to sacrifice enough?'. Her violet eyes were morose as she looked up at her father, this day of celebration and joy taking a turn that she'd never expected. If only she spent more time with the art of divination, she might have known all this was on the horizon.

As he gazed down at his daughter, Conaire knew there were a myriad of answers that he could give to her then. But the one he gave, he knew beyond doubt that it was the one she needed most to hear. It was why the representation of him knelt down, so that they could speak on even keel. And why he moved the representation of his hand to look as if it were resting on her knee, to show how he wished they could have contact. And it was why his voice lacked any coloring but the simplicity of truth. "T' heal old grievances among kin so that two souls can be property intertwined, is that so painful a sacrifice?"

The short sharpness of her exhale betrayed her frustration, though she was doing little to hide it from her expression or posture. There was a rapidness to the blink of her eyes that suggested perhaps she was trying to hold back tears. Since Archer had returned from the Land of the Dead, their relationship was rockier than it had ever been before. And as Conaire had said without saying, there had yet to be signs of improvement between them. This did not mean, however, that she did not love her brother. It was quite the contrary, and that's why this subject and Archer's harsh behavior towards her were a cause of such hurt. "Da, I told you. It's not that simply done." She said it softly, barely more than breath behind the words.

He made the representation of his hand give her a pat, though he knew it was a gesture she would not be able to feel. His smile was an encouragement, bearing hope when combined with the simple truth of his words. "Simply, perhaps no. But it can be done, m' bonny girl. It's within your power, the knowledge is there for the askin'. Through meditation, it will come. The Powers deem it so."

The Powers. Wonderful. It was all Arcadia could do to keep herself from snorting. As he was her father, she was listening to his words in a way that she would listen to no other. But that didn't mean she didn't begrudge the fact that it seemed like it was always her that was asked to be the bigger person when it came to Archer - the one to extend the olive branch, the one to keep from saying what she really wanted to say, the one to compromise...and now the one to meditate and find a means to do the impossible. She was quiet as she mulled it over. Finally she muttered sullenly, "So this is the last I'll see y' for a time."

"For a time, m' darlin' girl. But a time no longer than any others that have passed since we have been graced with th' means t' speak." He was glad to deliver that comfort, and it showed in the light of his visage as he bid the representation of him to stand. "For it must be Archer who performs the rituals o' the holy days with you, so that I can be called upon t' help ye with rituals of a...different nature."

His reply, and the cryptic pause near its end, stirred Arcadia's curiosity. She stood from her seat within the earthy bush, and after she did so the rustles and crackles of it returning to its natural state were heard. "Da? What sort o' rituals?"

"A tale for another time." If any who knew Arcadia could see the fashion of Conaire's smile, they would see for themselves where her cryptic, knowing curls of her lips came from. For there such a smile was upon her father's face. "The meditation must be your focus now. Come the solstice Archer must be at your side doin' his part t' honor the holy day. If he does I will come t' you soon after and we will begin our new journey together."

The depths of her violet eyes slightly widened. That her father's return to her hinged on Archer performing the acts of observance less than two months from now filled her with something she rarely ever felt - a tight, dreading panic. Her face screwed up in protest. "The solstice? But Da - "

"In you I have faith unendin', m' bonny girl." Conaire moved the representation of his hand to do what he wished to do earlier - place the hand to give the suggestion of touching her cheek. He did this, and then bestowed upon her the proper words for meeting on a May Day. "Bless, O Threefold true and bountiful, the wit and vitality o' me daughter who stands before me. Gra go deo, inin."

And then, he was gone.

The first moments after his departure were much like waking from a dream. Arcadia looking slowly around the temple with a vacant touch to her eyes as if she was not sure why she was here. It was the sight of the altar that snapped her fragmented thoughts away from confusion and back to focus. Beltane. Her father had been here for a purpose far different than what she called him for. And there was the May Cup, still untouched where it sat. Which meant the ritual was still incomplete. A ritual which brought her great discomfort, a ritual for which she needed him more than any other and he had denied her tonight in the name of the Greater Good.

The damned Greater Good. The clarity of this - as well as the impossible task her father had charged her with regarding Archer - were so sharp it made her feel sick. Both weak in the knees with an urge to crumble and on the brink of releasing a tempest to lash out in rebellion. She knew neither would be the correct thing to do and that no matter what her next move was her father would be Watching with Eyes of the Beyond. But she could not bring herself to choose any other option but the two that screamed with in her. To crumble, or to lash. Crumble, lash.

It was when she felt her fingers curling into balled fists and her lip drawing back in a snarl that would surely breed a growl if she didn't get hold of herself that she at least had the good sense to bellow one word. "Adrian!!"

With any luck that cry would turn out to be the wisest thing she could have ever done.

by Triumphant Son Mon May 04, 2009 1:19 am

Yes her cry was heard by the man, even while he stood at a fund raising
event held on an entirely different world. Adrian heard when his lady
had called for him." Excuse me please..."Was the only pleasantry Adrian
offered, speaking words in that powerful deep voice that he inherited
from his father. Words where spoken simply before a fliud motion turned
the Vampire around, before with the a speed that no human could
accomplish. Adrian carried his weight through the crowd, bobbing and
weaving through the people, he has a mission, and his mission tonight
was to get outside. Get outside, in order to answer his ladies cries
for her sire.

A Sliding glass door was slid open, gracing his
pale, nearly white skin with a cool springs breeze, a pillar of white
light soon bathing The Lord Count only to fade leaving for an empty
balcony. Not Ten minutes hence, That same pillar of light found home at
the front door of that temple Arcadia was inside of.

Dusting off
the black jacket of the tux a more human then usual Adrian stepped into
the building. raven black hair tied back before him into a long neat
ponytail. "Goddess, you have called for me...Is all well?" a hint of
concern in his voice as the very proper nobleman walked right over to
her form. Carried to her on speed not possible by human legs. a wash of
the vampiric power within pulsing over the temples exterior, and the
woman within it.

by Arcadia Caughey Mon May 04, 2009 11:12 pm

Ten minutes was a long time in her current state. It was rare to catch Arcadia by surprise, but it was beyond rare to catch her off guard to the degree she was now. The trifecta had done it - her father, her brother, the ritual. It stank of the plans of the Powers that Be. What a tenuous relationship she held with the powers, teetering between worship and hatred. She felt as if they dealt her a slap which spun her to face the unknown while simultaneously ripping her freewill from her hands. And Arcadia had never been able to handle not feeling firmly secure in what was to come. Or ultimatums. Most of the time she ran when she was faced with circumstances she didn't like. But this time, for whatever reason, it caused her to pitch this tantrum.

Knotted, torn and trembling with ten minutes tickling by. Between her bellow and the moment Adrian entered, the altar had been reduced to wreckage. Whether by her own hand, her power or her wind, Arcadia had clearly decided that if she did not have her father by her side to do the ritual the ritual simply would not be done. Spitting in the face of service to the Greater Good, perhaps. An unusual act which made her a momentary match for Archer's accusations of her irresponsible selfishness. And with the contents of the May Cup spattered on the wall, the jug she collected the twilight dew in empty, and the dew of the great outdoors long since dried by the light of the sun there would be no way to do the ritual now even if she had a change of heart.

Beyond a wrecked ritual, Adrian walked into a tempest that was at least still contained to this main room of the cloaked temple. Her wind was out of control - a mirror of her mood. The normally docile, invisible tendrils of air that surrounded her were now thin silvery rockets that knocked about the room without pattern or care. Pulling the water from its fall down the rocks and wall and riding it about like a rain which fell horizontally and never touched the ground. So when he saw her, Arcadia was wet.

And changed. Frantic power like the sort he'd feel coming off of her didn't get unleashed without knocking free the glamours she normally maintained with such painstaking care. But her true appearance was one he had been familiar with for quite a while, so her blond hair getting snapped and blown in all directions around her wouldn't be a surprise to him as far as the effect on her looks, nor the sight of her golden eyes or the general radiant golden glow of one of Nature's Chosen. The cause, perhaps that would be the surprise. As would be the manner in which he'd feel her power. Normally it beat off of her to brush coy against him like the wind. Now it was so erratic anyone who wasn't used to sensing her particular power might think it was coming from a source other than her.

She was impossible when there was something she didn't want to or couldn't deal with. It was why she was so reserved, distant and had so painstakingly developed an iron will of control. Knowing of the power she possessed from the Legacy, from Nature choosing her, and from the vampiric blood, Arcadia lived every day with a buried fear of what would happen if she snapped. Because she knew come that day she would be impossible.

But she was trying, or going to try, for him. And if her good old college try faltered, well there was a reason she'd called him here instead of the Doctor. Adrian was her Sire. His command over her would stop her when nothing else could.

She was kneeling on the ground as he came towards her, her hands each holding her head. Fingers gripping tightly. My head, said her telepathic voice in a rather beastly growl, hurts. It had been a long time since she'd felt pain in her skull so splitting. And it meant only one thing - the more dubious of the three personalities within her saw this moment as a golden opportunity and was trying to break free.

Who knows, maybe Lita winning control would be the best thing for this situation. While Lita was a menace, at least it would cut the distempered Arcadia from her reservoir of power.

by Triumphant Son Wed May 06, 2009 12:02 am

Always the calm cool collected, Adrian was never one to let anything rattle at his cage. Though there where times when that visage faltered, and with it so did his image of humanity. The slight color in his skin dropped, rushed back the pale white death that always graced his skin replacing the pale human color. With the color in his skin also went the color in his hair, replaced by the sheer silver that his hair normally held.

"Goddess, what is it that has you in such a state?" Asked softly of her, a heavier press of power against her. that calming effect that he had on her in full effect, or at least he was trying in to calm her down. Carefully Adrian Tepes knelt down beside her. turning his head so that he could see her face. Another wave of that power." What is wrong my love?" as he spoke those words to her Adrian wrapped an arm around her body, pulling her close to him.

by Arcadia Caughey Wed May 06, 2009 10:51 pm

That power. Calming to her even in those moments when he wasn't directing it to be so. Just the presence of its pressure against her was enough to make the tempest in her mind simmer down. At least simmer enough that she could push the nagging Lita back down to the recesses of her mind where she would stay, and put a cork in the splitting pain in her head. Her fingers relaxed their pressure against her temples, and forward Arcadia drooped against him with a sway and light thud that was akin to a swoon.

But she hadn't fainted, not really. He would feel her weight heavily against him, limp like a rag doll. The greater benefit to her reaching the eye of her storm was that the water soaring through the air suddenly halted in its flight and then fell to the floor as any proper rain should. The wind of the room died down as well, pulling back towards Arcadia where it would concentrate its agitated movements, many of which he'd feel since he was so close to her. The mess of the ceasing tempest remained, as did her 'true' form. But she didn't care about either of those right now anyway. It was just her and Adrian, no need for it to matter.

His questions. How to answer them. The normally eloquent Arcadia simply made a sound, at first. Something between a growl and a groan as she turned in to bury her face in his chest. There he'd feel the cool of a sigh against his chest, an unneeded breath that had quite the weight behind it. "Lita," was the muffled start of a reply. "I don't want her t' get out. She was tryin'." That wasn't the answer to his questions, either of them. Part of the problem until a moment ago, but hardly the whole of it. Hardly what had made her cause such wreckage of a temple she had great love for.

Instead, as was typical of Arcadia she changed the subject. Which took some nerve in this instance, considering she was the one who called him here. "What did I take y' from, Sire?" Asked as she moved her head slightly, tilting it enough that she could gaze up at him at least out of the corner of her eye from her spot nestled against him.

by Triumphant Son Sun May 10, 2009 2:34 pm

Adrian had wrapped himself around her body , pulling her weight easily into his lap before settling more comfortable on the ground with her. Bringing a hand up to pet down her hair slowly, holding her calmly while the power within him petting over her body. Tilting his head down against her.

"Naught but mindless mortal drivvel my love. worry not. As I am here now, such is all that matters at this time Goddess..." words whispered softly to her while the vampire kept her body held tightly to his own. Taking the time to allow silence to hold in the area, allowing his power to permeate her skin, pulsing along with the beating of his own heart.

"Lita will not be allowed out while I am here , your mind shall remain your own this night my love." and then he picked his head up looking about the temple, taking in the scene around them. "What is it that spurned your Ire as such this night? have your rituals not gone as you wished them to?"

by Arcadia Caughey Mon May 11, 2009 12:12 am

As he wrapped himself around her she happily melted into him. Her eyes sank closed and remained that way as she listened to the beating of his heart and enjoyed his warmth. His calming power was doing her well, and despite the fact she was still displeased with the day's events her temper had drained right out of her, which was certainly for the best. Her cool hand reached up, tracing over the veins of his neck with her fingertips as he spoke to her softly.

"Mortal drivel," she repeated with quietly with one of her cryptic little smiles. Her head settling against his shoulder so when she opened her eyes she could gaze up at him. "Then I suppose I don't feel bad pullin' y from it, though m' sure they miss the presence o' Wallachia's finest man." A stoke of her fingers down his neck and chest as she added that. "Are y' sure it isn't important? I could go with y' if it was, I'd just have t' change m' clothes..." She was probably looking for an excuse to leave this temple behind and return to it and this nights events another day. She had no intention of doing the ritual now, and couldn't anyway without the dew.

And then Arcadia's lips pursed as she thought of the answer to Adrian's question, now it was her turn to let silence reign as she considered how to present the night's event to him. "It wasn't as the holy day's supposed t' go." Another pause. "The ritual...the main ritual...I haven't done it. M' Da after I summoned him he used the opportunity t' tell me o' other plans ahead for me and Archer and told me I have t' find a way t' set things right between us, and then he left me here without a partner when he knows I don't care for Beltane's shiftin' ritual."

"He knows that," she repeated with firm emphasis, "he's punishin' me even though he said he wasn't, teachin' me a lesson about havin' t' work with Archer when Archer won't give me a lick o' respect and I don't know why I have t' be the one who always has t' be the mature one tryin' t' solve our problems and he gets t' keep on bein' a smug bastard..." And there it was, the heat creeping back into Arcadia's voice as she told Adrian the cause of her tempest.

by Triumphant Son Wed May 20, 2009 11:19 pm

"Nor should you. It matters not to me whether or not, I will allow mortals to keep me from my Goddess when it is she is in duress." Tilting his head down, baring fangs, and giving her cheek a little nick. "Nor have I a desire to return to it, it was simply another reason for the European Union to force the Euro upon my people.

"Why does the responsibility of reconciling the tension between you and Archer fall solely on your shoulders? Should not part of such be on Archer as well?" Looking up, and pondering off for a moment. listening to her words as she went on. "I am sorry Goddess, That your father did not help you, and that your brother does not share the respect that he himself feels he deserves."

Adrian picked his head up then, eyes looking throughout the Temple they where in. his hand petting through her hair before he spoke again."Do you require Archer himself? or would it be that The Good Doctor, or perhaps myself that could assist you in completion of your rituals before the day has ended?"

by Arcadia Caughey Fri May 22, 2009 9:18 pm

The tempest of her frustration waned into a mere drizzle when he nicked her cheek. It sighed right out of her, as her eyes sank closed and she leaned forward into him. Adrian was unlike any man she'd ever met in her approximately eighty years of living - it took him so very little to accomplish so very much. In this case, flooding her with peace.

"It's not your fault, Sire," Arcadia crooned to him softly as she lifted her head enough to nip his earlobe and purr a soft rumbling growl into his ear. Her hands linked around the back of his neck, and she shifted in his lap so that she was facing him with her legs on either side of his torso. A rather familiar, and comfortable position to be in. "Any o' it. So y' hardly have a thing to apologize for."

She pressed her cheek to his, nuzzling her coolness against his warmth. Even his impossibly beating heart was a constant music to her ears whenever she was around him, and something that certainly had a serene effect now. "As for the ritual, t' do it now is an impossibility. One o' the ingredients was lost in my...burst o' ire," such diplomatic words, "and the time t' harvest that ingredient has passed. The ritual will be left undone, that part o' the otherworld realm unable t' teach its lessons this year."

Did she sound upset about that fact? Not as much as she should be. For while she was a most devoted child of Nature, it was still her least favored ritual of them all which made her markedly uncomfortable to experience. That it would be left unexplored for this cycle pained her sense of duty, but the selfish voice in her could not help but be pleased.

It was that selfish voice that spoke now, after she returned his bite with one of her own to his cheek. Partnered with a growl, hints of her beast remained rumbling in her voice as she said, "What I wish now, Sire, is t' leave this place and the cleanin' necessary t' another day so that we can tend t' more predatory affairs." Nails raked firmly down the back of his neck as she confessed that, and she even gave his cheek a second bite, enough to draw a few precious drops of his warm blood. If he did not catch her meaning with such hints, then he was beyond the hope of hinting. For dusk was finally upon the day, and right now for Arcadia she felt there was no better pastime to forget about the duty charged to her by her father than a nice, vigorous hunt shared between them.

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