Like Old Times... (Main Village, 10am-4pm-ish, 12/26)

It was a cool winter day, peaceful overall as children ran about playing with their new toys and having snowball fights. The air was filled with laughter, even though Christmas had come and gone, many of the people here were still full of cheer for the holidays... except for Elliot.

The teen wandered aimlessly through the village like a ghost. His body merely going through the motions of reacquainting himself with the place he once called home as his sleepless eyes betrayed the storm of thoughts and emotions that were ravaging his soul. Every now and then, a spark of life would return to those blue eyes as he would spot something he found interesting or familiar in his travels, but then thoughts of Lya, Gregor, or being back in this place would arrise and send the teen tumbling back into the feelings of sadness, loss, and rage that had taken hold of his heart.

Eventually, the Crescent Moon found a park... or at least the No Moon's equivalent to one... and sat down on a bench with a sigh, his hands buried deep within his pockets for warmth. Those nearly lifeless, angry blue eyes then gazed up into the grey sky. As though looking for answers, for revenge, somewhere among the dark, swirling clouds. If only he knew who was responsible for Gregor's death, then there would be someone who he could lash out at. As things stood however, there was naught he could do but sigh as he watched the snow fall and count the minutes until he could crush the skull of the one that killed his cousin.

Ely knew this place. Knew it's rhythms, and it's flow. Knew who disliked who, who was dating, who wanted who and who just couldn't stand the other. She'd grown up here, had protected the people around them, laughed and played with the children, acted as first an assistant, and then as midwife to the women. Had driven home various individuals that had had too much to drink. In short, this place flowed with memory.

As the oily raven she preferred, she flapped through the cold morning air, sharp eyes watching the people below. She'd learned her lesson already. If she wanted to be quiet with her thoughts, be shifted, until you got to a more secluded venue.The children loved a trickster. And the No Moon had always been a reliable and fun playmate in the past. A kid didn't forget that. And nor did they grasp that this Ely was in no shape to play joyous little games with them.

She didn't blame them. Even when Gregor had left, she hadn't shied from them. She'd become far more contained, but with the little ones, she'd come alive. Come back to some tucked away part of her. For a little while, her heart had been freed. Now, though. Ely had lost her desire to play. Had all but lost that playful and happy little spark that made her funny and enjoyable.

She circled, dipping her night wings to wheel about when her eye caught the shimmer of gold in the crowd. For one stupid, unbelieveable, and shattering moment, her heart leaped. Even as her mind screamed truth, that faithless and foolish part of her thought she'd seen Gregor. Moving through the crowd, as he'd once done so easily. It's Elliot, goddammit! Elliot! Gregor is fucking dead, you idiot. She internally railed at herself, scathing commentary about ten kinds of fool a litany in her mind. The dreams were beginning to bleed through. She hadn't had such trouble seeing the differences between the cousins since that day with Brutus.

Still, she turned her wings automatically to join the Crescent Moon. Neither of them had been the same. Once, not so very long ago, she might have pounced on him, hugged him, snuggled with him. Now she alighted with barely a sound in the snow ahead of him, shifting back silently. She wore no hat or scarf to shield her face from the bite of the air or the occasional slap of wind. Her only concession to the cold is an insulated leather jecket and a pair of beat up hiking books.

Those golden eyes, and they were the shiny, hard shade of the sun metal, watched him. It had been weeks since that color had softened to that warm cognac amber. The softer emotions didn't stay long enough to shift her eyes anymore. The well of rage that had been dug deep and filled from the age of 16 until now kept the No Moon going. Her grief and guilt kept her burning. Not precisely burning hot, because, in the end, Ely's wrath tended to be a cold thing. But it fueled her.

She didn't snap out her words at those that addressed her. In fact, her facade was so firmly in place, that one never appeared to get much beyond a cool sort of amusement or interest from her when they spoke. She'd walled herself away from everyone, including the man that sat in front of her now. The spirits had noticed the shift in the No Moon, and it made them nervous. Because they couldn't read her, either. Even when her mood shifted, as it inevitably would, she wore that same careless caricature of a smile, face frozen in the false happiness of a Harlequin's mask.

Today, as she looked at him, it was no different. The bond they had forged in the days before they knew the truth had been buried under the weight of guilt and recriminations. Both were so mired, they couldn't have begun to dig themselves out. Let alone reaching one another. Instead, here they sat, two strangers that had once been the furthest from such a thing. History was shadowed, and emotion frozen. It seemed both had found themselves in the cold of a winter their own creation. It frosted the words Ely spoke now. "What's the plan now? The spirits won't work with you, and you won't work with me to train."

The words should have had an antagonistic edge to them, a bite. But they were empty and careless, just as the Trickster's face had become. She wasn't spoiling for a fight. She couldn't work up the energy to care that much. To her, they were just small curiosities.