Idea prompt 12- A midsummer night's longing.
(Based kinda off the project bud by @luvielolol. Go check it out!)
(Honestly- I don't know if this more prompt or story blurb, lol.)
It was largely understood. Faerie cookies were created to be the right hands and servents of the virtues. Of course, not all Faerie cookie were this way, but that was their choice and shadow milk would be a fool to begrude them.
Afterall, a number of them when to seek themselves and that was knowledge on its own. Part of him almost wanted to join a few of them- wanting to see their growth, their change and watch them shift and change and-
Shadow Milk shook his head, "Ah- I shall have to put that off, the festivial is important." Part of him looked forward to the festivial- the other half hated having to attend.
The Joy on cookies face was a delight, but dealing with the formalities? The planning? The worshipping? Shadow Milk would rather not.
He had very little problems with planning- infact planning quite often a mental test he quite enjoyed, but the more... formal aspects he could do without.
But of those formalities, their was only one he truly enjoyed. Performed by the very faeries who served under him.
A celebration in the form of dnace. A colorful, beautiful enchanting dance. A glorious movement of storytelling, of speaking in beautiful riddles and twisting truths.
Of all things; Shadow Milk loved the Soiree.
Althought he hated the aftermath.
The Soiree had been almost the same as last years which was.. dissappointing at first. But- It was different.
He couldn't stop his eyes the moment he spotted the blonde dancer with closed eyes.
The blonde hair had been what first caught his attention. Faeries didn't typically have blonde hair- in fact he has never seen a Faerie with blonde hair until now.
Yet after a moment after he had quickly noted the lack of Faerie wings. Just considering that fact the blonde Faerie was more then likely only half-Faerie. Which although uncommon, wasn't impossible. Just an oddity.
Yet he couldn't keep his eyes off that dancing Faerie.
He couldn't tell the direct gender of that Faerie- if they had one. They looked danity, each step was in tune with the rest- but yet mixed with a slow movement at the same time. Mere half seconds off, they adjusted well to the rest but they still moved slow.
A delicate step forward in line, the moving green silk ribbion ends flowing their moves as they enter a twirl and as they come back to face the audience- shadow milk can feel his breath being stolen.
Unfocused but so very gorgorous eyes. His right glittering like the sun had given part of itself to shine in eye, his blue like the soft tides of the ocean as they crashed softly against a beaches shore.
His mind as so stuck on this- Witches he doesn't have the correct word for them.
The green long loose sleeves that lose green ribbons were held onto were like dancing willow leaves. The white under shirt and dancing trousers- not even mentioning the twisting jewelry of white vines on the green robe- only made them seem to glow.
They weren't even one of the main dancers- merely a backup. Yet, he was unknowling stealing the show and planting them at shadow milk front thoughts.
"Them," He mindessly says to his nearby attendent, "I want Them."
Its after a moment before he spots the Faerie look upon blonde dancer and then bow with a tone of hestiantance speaks, "It shall be done by lord."
He silently mourned the loss of the blonde dancer upon the end, before remembering what he had mindlessly spoken and felt conflicted.
The Aftermath of the Soiree typically ended in one of two ways. Either a Faerie would be picked from the performers over the course of the festivial by himself or one of the other beasts or none would be picked.
The picked Faerie would end up on of three ways; Typically only the first two had happened, the third had yet to be used.
The first would be spending the night as a, in better words, bedpartner. The second, would be as a compainion, to simply be there for comfort or as a call upon for things of other natures.
The third was for a lifetime partnership. For the Faerie to be seen as a true partner and to be wedded to that virtue.
He understood for Faeries it meant quite a bit for their social standing yet he never quite felt comfortable with just picking a Faerie as a partner- muchless a bedpartner! In fact this was the first time he ever picked a Faerie from the festivial!
Throughout his time waiting, he was a mix of impatient, eager and apprehensive. Just what- or rather who was this blonde half-Faerie who had taken over his mind.
His mind was interuptted with a knock at the door, his festival attentent bows to him, "My lord, the... Faerie has arrived." He notes the hestiance at the word Faerie- only more evidence to his half-Faerie theory then.
Witches, Faerie cookies are so prickly at times with their own kind. Some cookie doesn't act a certain way? Outcasted. Isn't good at what are considered standard Faerie skills? Mistreated. Not completely Faerie- or not even raised in their general culture?
Well. Almost always they never go into Faerie society and if they do, they typically leave it.
His eyes linger on the blonde with closed eyes as they enter the room and bow to him, "Greetings, my lord." Gentle, yet warm. Quiet, yet can easily fill a room.
Something in his mouth is dry as he looks upon the new outfit the other was in. He wore a similar outfit to the one on stage. The same white pants and undershirt, but with a green leaf like top with wrapping vines around his wait and those leaf overtop sleeves meeting right at the edge of his long white sleeves. There seemed to be an odd live yellow flower with a- is that an eye thats blinking?
He chuckle aloud, this halfling just gets more and more interesting.
He waves his hand to his attentant, "Leave us, I call if needed."
The Faerie nods- but he notices they look they give the blonde Faerie. He can't stop the frown that forms on his face at that action. He turns back to the still bowing Blonde. He motions for them to rise- but they don't seem to immediately act. Shadow milk is a bit confused before he speaks, "Rise please, and take a seat on the chair to the next of me."
The other raises without question and slowly making their way to the chair- he notes closed eyes and the blinking flower, but also the way the other feels the room as they walk to the seat. As they take their seat, they sit, hands in their lap, looking the picture of manners.
He offers a tea cup to them, "I am quite curious about you, would you answer my questions, perhaps?" After a good moment the other takes the tea cup and takes a small hestiant sip- no, not quite hestiant. Cautious.
The other speaks in that soft, yet ringing tone, "I am Pure Vanilla Cookie, My lord. It would be an honor to answer your questions."
Pure Vanilla Cookie, he thinks with a smile, what a lovely name. Flows right off the tounge. He hums, "Well then, my dear, I hope you are perpared, I am quite the curious one."
Pure Vanilla, he thinks in the aftermath of the festivial, is a spirited, knowledgable, kind and lovely cookie.
He comes from a small farming village as a sherpard. He was taken in a baby by a sherpard named Brown sugar cookie. He learned he was good with healing magic at an early age when he healed one of the herd. He loved reading, although he struggles to read most things with his poor eyesight. His blinking flower was something he funneled magic into to be able to see temporarily. When one of the younger cookies of the festivial bumped into him, he immeditaly made sure they were okay- healing their scraps as he did.
Yet, he was distant, he was hestiant and he was careful. Perhaps he held an ex-lover? Or even with an even higher likelihood the other Faeries were giving him problems. He even confirmed the pure vanilla was half Faerie as he thought.
Yet as twirls the green flower in his hand that pure vanilla had caught during the festivals flower throwing. He can't help his mind.
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