OTA

[phouka]

The first day of Spring had come and gone. The prince had left to the Seelie lands, but only for battle preparations. He was back with the full moon. Phouka had remained behind to see after Winter and Fin, though for them the days were much the same. In truth, Phouka was a bit bored. He longed for court intrigues and gossip. As a guard he'd never been a part of things, always on the outside, but he'd heard and he'd seen. Now he got his entertainment from the telly. He found it to be so contrived. It lacked fire. Passion.

And so with the prince back he had been given leave for the day. He immediately set out to find intrigues. He wandered the park, found a market, sat outside in the chilly air to sip a coffee and watch. Watch and see. Everywhere he looked he saw people with lovers, with friends. He didn't know their lives so some of the drama was lost. But at the cafe he found hope. On one side of him sat two women chatting incessantly about the one's disasterous love life. The friend concurred with the righteous anger over many, many men. On the other side sat a couple who, at first, were the picture of romance. But then he checked a text and the woman...well, she became a bit mad. Angry, yes, but Phouka thought she was absolutely nutters as she questioned him on who he was talking to, grilling him with such jealous fury the Phouka kept waiting for the man to leave. Watching them he saw what others might not see. The man was positively eating up her jealous outburst. It stroked his ego, clearly.

"Hmm." Just that. One small sound. And he sipped his coffee.

[Find him at the cafe or in the park, market, or on the street, wherever works best!]

Comments

[phouka]

Phouka thought about that for a moment, the puzzling in his head readable on his face.

"I do not have a mother," he said. "The Queen created me. Perhaps Santa brings gifts for those without mothers."

That, to him, made sense.

[akatawitch]

To that, Sunny only shrugged. She didn't have to be a dick. "Maybe."

Of course, she didn't believe that, but there really was nothing to get out of poking holes in that thought.

[phouka]

That was a fine answer and so he smiled brightly. He was dubious of a pink bunny, though it may come from Wonderland, but Santa was an elf and Phouka knew elves were real.

"Maybe so," he nodded, a proud smile on his lips.

[akatawitch]

Stop. Stop being adorable. That isn't fair. Sunny grinned at him and shook her head a little, but she brushed it aside before they could go any deeper. "So yeah, I'm waiting to take advantage of religious holidays to get some sleep. How's your life?"

[phouka]

"It is a very good life," he replied. "I have good friends and good food and a large park where I can chase a ball when Winter throws it for me. I live a life of ease and comfort. And I never lack for sleep. I feel sorry that you do."

[akatawitch]

Sunny snorted and let herself laugh, not at him exactly, it was affectionate, not mean.

But she had to ask, even as she kind of hated that she was asking, "And how are you and Winter?"

[phouka]

He blinked a couple times and tilted his head again.

"I just told you I am well and happy. Winter is well also. He has been busking with the prince and has been getting better since someone stole his memory," he explained, clearly missing the point of her question.

[akatawitch]

Sunny sighed and drank her coffee, muttering "Fairies," into her cup.

[phouka]

"Why do you say that?" he asked. His hearing was keen, even in a crowd, and though he couldn't see her lips he had heard her just fine.

[akatawitch]

It hadn't surprised her at all that he'd heard her. "I don't think I know how to explain it to you," Sunny answered, and for the most part that was a true answer. Though perhaps it was more accurate to say she didn't want to.

[phouka]

"Oh. Very well," he replied, accepting her answer as truth and nothing more. "Tell me why you are not sleeping. I understand it is the work you have, but tell me more so I understand."

[akatawitch]

It was, in a way, exactly what Sunny needed to hear. The only way to combat a crush was to face head on all the reasons someone was a terrible choice to be wasting one's feelings on.

She didn't think she was going to convince her loins to follow her brain, but it was a good moment for her brain.

Sunny chewed her lip and thought of how to explain what she did. "What sort of work I do, you mean?"

[phouka]

"Yes," he nodded. "I know so little about you. Mortals are vast and varied. Tel me what you do. What you love and despise. What makes you smile..."

[akatawitch]

Explaining an English degree was hard enough to people who had a vague idea of what that was--usually because they were going to be awful about it. Explaining to someone who didn't have that context... "I study literature," she began, sitting up a little straighter as a reflex response. This question often turned into a fight, and Sunny never rolled over and took it during a fight. "I read and analyze stories that people consider important to history and culture."

[phouka]

The Phouka's eyes widened with interest and he leaned forward.

"You study stories? In school? Do you know all the stories in the world, petal? Tell me more!"

[akatawitch]

Sunny smiled. Oh, if only she had the time, energy, and ability to read that widely. "Hardly! There's too many for that. And it takes so long just to read a few. I haven't even read everything that's considered part of English literary canon. But I've seen things from many different eras, and it's amazing the changing thoughts you can see just in the stories people tell."

[phouka]

"The stories of the fae rarely change," he replied. "Tell me more. And perhaps I can convince you to tell me a story."

[akatawitch]

Sunny put her coffee aside and folded her hands on the table, leaning forward a bit and her eyes lighting up. This was one of her passions in life and had been for years, since she was a kid. "Human stories change a lot, down to the way they're told. Novels didn't even exist in the English language until about three hundred years ago, it was all in verse before then. And it's only two hundred years that novels have been taken seriously as an art form."

She tried to keep her hands still, but eventually she started gesticulating as she spoke. "The kinds of heroes people write about change all the time, especially as epic gave way to novel. Themes change, too, as the world does. Politics, technology, social norms... but most stories come back to a few key questions. What it means to be an admirable person, the burden of choice, loyalty, love, family, death. ... Our stories teach us what it means to be human, I suppose."