[SWE] Capturing the Sun

Deimos The first inclination of the will-o-wisps appearance, out of experience, was to abstain, twist back the other way – except these were nuances of the upcoming festivities, and once again, he couldn’t find a way to ignore them. They tempted and teased, implored and encouraged, serenaded and hummed in the dusky, hollowed, hallowed bits of light, a tease, a torment, a ruse, meant to call them out to their games, to their merriment. Had Fiat Lux not been a grand escapade for him (devilry and delight, mischief and games, a beloved cycle rising from temptation and enticement), he might have cast them aside, still weary and wary of the Fae. Instead, he pushed away the onslaughts, the phantoms of his experiences telling him to stay, to wither, to fray apart and remain in isolation, detached, eternally apart from everyone and everything. Where had it ever helped him? Not when he was the lost monarch in the north, struggling to keep everything together when he was always nonchalant, distant, defending them via bloodshed, munitions, and arms. When had it ever aided him in anything? What had it provided, other than desolation, self-annihilation? Just try had been his cornerstone, a searing little thing in the back of his mind, sometimes a trickling brook, sometimes a thundering waterfall, sometimes the rushing waves crashing down around him. Today, it was the promise of a gift, the sanctity of a festival, the glory of oncoming storms. He changed out of one of his many work shirts, rough around the ends, and into something newer, less stained and mottled, light, gilded fabric meant to ensure the heat of the day didn’t conform to his frame; grabbing hold of his molded basket, tucking his gift into a back pocket. Then he followed the intervals of light, eyes surveying, scrutinizing, looking over threats or ominous, forewarning overtures; but there was only the ether of celebration sparking and sizzling, the ethereal ivory masks and universe of stars. He immediately thought of Amalia, and then went back to the crowd, searching over the tops of heads, looking for her familiar frame, or that of little Jyoti, bounding through the masses along stardust and song. The beast saw Jigano at first, pale and stark against the outline and backdrop of the evening whims, raising the hand not clenching over his basket in a wave and salute, inclining his head towards Ronin and Ianto as he passed. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime