alainn_aislinn: (Not that sort of fairytale)
It had taken some convincing, but Melissa had always been a persuasive girl. Aislinn liked her, wished Devin hadn't been stupid enough to break up with one the Morrigan had taken an interest in. It could have done him good to reconnect with those in Faerie. But he'd been frightened, and he had left, and she had maintained a quasi-friendship with the girl for her own purposes. The gift. The mark. The way her brown eyes saw things.

And now there was this request, and here she was, lingering in a coffee house, sipping a cup of tea and listening to poetry not even a muse could fix, waiting for an alien who didn't believe in fairies. Well, she didn't believe in aliens, but she was willing to trust the girl's judgment, at least as far as being willing to meet this Doctor she was traveling with.

She'd been amused enough to dress for the occasion in the most fairylike garb she could get away with in a human public. Her auburn curls were pulled half back, tumbling down her back and over her shoulders. She let just enough of the glamour slip so that her skin was whiter, eyes greener and tilted just a bit. She left her ears human-looking, but the hint of a point was there. Her dress was dark green and black, velvet and something silk-like. It was a sundress of a sort, clinging to her skin here and there where it should, and flowing free in other places. Her earrings and necklace were delicate jade leaves, carved by the finest dwarven craftsmen.

Sighing, Aislinn tucked a stray strand of hair back and added more cream to her tea, then glanced around, watching the door for someone who looked like an alien. Hopefully the evening wouldn't be boring, at the very least. And if he really was an alien...A calculating look flashed in her eyes.

Well, that could be very interesting, indeed.
alainn_aislinn: (I can't do this alone)
Treat your mind like a bad neighborhood - don't go there alone. -- Anonymous

Things get twisted and tangled up sometimes. She wonders, then, if it is hers or his, or some conglomeration of them all. If it is true that she drives men mad, then surely the opposite side of the coin cashes in on the deal, and she takes herself along with them. She cannot tie herself so closely, strapping her body and mind up against Icarus as he flies without the searing heat burning her as well. There are no wings to spread and carry her back up as she spirals down, and no matter what she was before, she knows that he has made her his in psyche, in soul, in the crumbling walls of sanity that do not hold up against the winds and rages of time.

She hides it better than he, usually. She smiles brighter, she finds delight in the simple things like sunshine on flowers that call to the part of her nature that wants to dance through fields and worship in the Goddess' grace. She laughs. She teases. She twirls her net of seduction, simple and sure, around those who wander close enough to be caught. She loves without the reservations, feeling too much without the filters he has erected.

They are not the same, and yet, they are in the way that heads are the same as tails--two parts of a whole and neither can fulfill its purpose without the other.

But she will not look too closely at what it has made her. She cannot bring herself to walk the twisted paths, swirling through mist and moonlight and cobwebs and ending in a plummeting abyss. She is expert at self-denial and ignorance, dancing in shadows and calling more to her, until there is a brighter mind, clearer, sharper, with paths of strict order that she finds she wants to walk, and it is two in one, because when he lets her in, she must do the same, and through his eyes, she sees the shadows in hers, the mist that hides and that even his light cannot fully penetrate.

She sees enough to frighten her, in places she never dared go before, but nothing there, and nothing in his shining order can help her in answering the question of what comes next.
alainn_aislinn: (getting ready)
Aislinn was finally starting to adjust to being Sidhe again instead of a kitten or a tree. The tendency to want to lick her hand to clean behind her ears had finally subsided, mostly. She still got distracted by feathers and strings, but, really, that wasn't so out of the ordinary for her and was barely noticeable. Ditto the need to lap at the cream.

She had missed being a girl, missed her boys, and her books. Byron had been settling, writing more, and that was appreciated, as it kept her from getting cranky as quickly. Things were calmer, at least.

For now, she was fidgeting, going through dress after dress until she finally settled on a simple black one, classic color, but still in her prefered flowing style. Hair half up, a bit of makeup that she took right back off, then just used magic to accent what she wanted accented. Glamours were useful sometimes. Then, trying to not fidget too much, she went in search of the Doctor.
alainn_aislinn: (Something more beautiful)
She didn't run when she left the TARDIS, not really. She just wanted out, out of the air that still held painful emotions and words that rang over and over in her head. She needed them to stop, to quiet, but she knew that things wouldn't until she was calmer, until she could think straight again.

And that meant feeding.

She slowed a bit when she approached the places the artists gathered. A shaky breath and she tested the world, finding she could slide between here, too, make herself invisible unless she wanted to be seen. She was careful as she moved among them, just listening to the sounds in their heads right now, the songs in their hearts. The air itself vibrated with energy, and it was all she could do not to pull it in greedily. She'd make herself sick if she did that, get disoriented, so she kept a tight reign on everything until she found a quiet garden meant for contemplation and respite. A few writers were scattered on benches, scribbling in journals and she smiled to see it.

Settling under a tree, she closed her eyes, finding the tune of this world, the ground under her, the energy of the pull and turn of it, added to them until she felt like she was as connected to it as she could be to earth that was not hers. Then gently, delicately, with more control than she thought possible, she started to pull it into her slowly. Her breath quickened almost immediately, pores and cells opening to soak it up, begging for what they'd been denied. The place was pulsing, brimming with energy in every iota of atmosphere, and she lifted her face to the sun and drank it in until she was full. Just the place itself was nourishing and there was nothing she could give until she had something in her.

Once she did though, she moved among the writers, touching this one or that one lightly, offering little touches of inspiration, what they needed to move to the next paragraph, the next stanza. Little sparks for each of them, and little sips back into her to replenish what she gave. Give and take; inspiration and creation. Two sides of one coin and she gave out as much as she took. If the energies worked differently in their physiologies, that wasn't anything she could control, really, and she pushed those words aside, concentrating on the truths she'd found in her anger.

When she was done, she still wandered some, ignoring his "don't stay too long." "Too long" really wasn't a defined concept, and she needed the peace of this place for a while longer.

She wasn't sure how long that longer was until she finally made her way back to the TARDIS. She was calmer, at least, no longer aching with need and hunger, if still shaky from the emotions. Steadying them as best she could, she somehow found the courage to push open the door and step back inside.
alainn_aislinn: (Came undone)
Aislinn went to the rec room as suggested, though it didn't improve her mood much. Not that she could have said exactly what was proving to be the thorn in her paw or whatever the stupid human reference was.

Everything was out of sorts and if she knew where it started, she didn't know the why of it, just that it was all shards under her skin and nothing fit right anymore and she wanted it to go back or forward or something else indescribable that made her head hurt to look at it too closely.

But she was there, as requested, waiting for her tea. Not that she thought tea would make anything any different. Sometimes she thought he'd spent a little too much time in England. Byron was always offering tea, too. And Doc. Neither of them were properly English either, but she overlooked it in favor of her ill-temper.

Except she didn't want to be ill tempered. Not with him. Not with anyone. She just wanted everything to stop cutting so deep when she couldn't understand the whys of it.
alainn_aislinn: (sleeping)
At home she would have retreated to her garden, but she wasn't at home, she was here where she couldn't even feel home except the faint thread of Devin that wore on the edge of her subconscious. She didn't think she'd be able to, but he was there, and that was at least a comfort.

The earth wasn't under her feet, which was disconcerting, but she was adjusting to that. For all that Byron had been there the night before, she'd already decided he couldn't be her anchor tonight. It was his birthday and Rose wanted to spend the night with him. He deserved to have that. She was still far too shy, uncertain, to go follow the Doctor anywhere unasked.

Unsure, she hovered outside his door for a moment, then retreated back down the hall to her room, but that didn't last more than a couple of minutes until she was wandering again.

In the end, she found her way to the Zero room, its calm closing around her like a bubble. Of course, blocking everyone else wasn't exactly what she needed so much as blocking herself out, but she certainly could stand to get through the night without feeling whatever Rose and Byron generated.

The cool pink light was soothing, and she sank to the floor, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes. The thoughts, the fear, the feeling of being out of control from an inner source, rather than an outer one, was still there, but it was softer. It was easier to pull it back inside and box it up tight. If she let one thing out at a time, she could examine it closely, look it over, figure out what it meant, how to deal with it, then put it back.

It was a slow, painstaking process, but it seemed to settle her some, though that might have been the room as well. The tears didn't come back, and she finally stretched out on the floor, curling up a little, still thinking about things.

Not too much later, she drifted off to sleep.
alainn_aislinn: (Aislinn)
Aislinn was pacing across the floor, avoiding the broken glass that was littered underfoot. It wasn't safe to negotiate, and she finally just made the shattered remnants disappear after one slid deep in her bare foot making her yelp in an undignified manner at the slicing pain before she clapped her hands over her mouth. Danu only knew what he'd do if he remembered she was even here. He'd thrown enough things, shattering some of her favorites of the new pieces they'd gotten in, and put enough poison in his system to make him dangerous.

It was best just to not remind him of your presence when he got in these moods. Annabella had never figured that out, to her own detriment. His tongue was crueler than his fists, but if he was high enough, or drunk enough, it behooved one to be able to step out of the way fast. Annabella hadn't ever quite figured that out either. Aislinn was better at it, at least, but she'd more than a bruise or two before she learned to make herself scarce.

It wasn't often it got this bad. It wasn't usual for him to get violent. But the shattered pieces of glass worried her, because things had been fine. He'd been doing well. He'd been writing, composing, and they'd been beautiful. He'd been talking to the girl. To Rose. Sad over his poem, yes, but not...not like this. She remembered the night the review came in, the one that had them all banging on doors begging him to come out with Cam almost shaking her to get her to go calm him down before he did harm to himself. Was that it? What the girl had said? She was no one to him. She admitted she couldn't understand his poems, pieces that were so loved the Doctor said they'd last forever. Maybe she should tell Byron that? She hadn't wanted to pressure him into feeling like he had to produce at that level right away again.

Dropping to the windowseat, she tucked her feet up under her dress, heedless of the bloodstains she was getting on it from the cut on her foot. She could go home until it passed, stay out of his way. He'd come back down, eventually. Be sweetly apologetic for causing a fuss. Fret over her foot, even though that was more her fault than his. If he didn't...

The sound of music interrupted her thoughts. It was faint, floating up from downstairs where the grand piano was. It was angry, pain pouring through it and lacing itself into her blood, each nerve vibrating with it. He was composing, and as much as it hurt, as much risk as there was in the movement, she crossed the floor slowly, wincing just a bit at the pressure on her foot. She crept down the stairs slowly, as quiet as she could, then settled at the foot of them, watching his back through the doorway, her head resting against the wall as she closed her eyes and listened, willing it, willing anything, to help.
alainn_aislinn: (Miss too much if you stop to think)
She left the TARDIS half in the mortal world, half out of it, the better to avoid Byron, only sliding back into the mortal world when she was around the corner in the opposite direction of his hotel. Her reappearance almost gave one woman a heart attack, but Aislinn barely noticed, giving her a smile before heading to the cafe to wait for the Doctor.

She was still shaken a bit. It had been a while since she'd actually conversed with anyone besides other Sidhe and her artists. Since Byron she'd taken to going back to a more traditional pattern of several artists she visited regularly, but none she'd taken as more than an occasional lover or allowed herself to attach to more than any genius drew her. She was his, even if he no longer had use for her. Yes, she still loved them each in their own way, but it wasn't the way it was with him. Not even the way it had been with Devin's father and the screaming fights over him still echoed in her head, 146 years later.

She ordered a tea and made it with mostly cream, nibbling on a piece of cake while she waited. It was a distraction at least, to take someone like the Doctor to Faerie. She wondered if she dared Elysandre's wrath to take him to Bri Leith itself. Fergus would have assured it, but she hadn't seen him in a while and wasn't sure exactly how to ask. After the things he'd said about Devin, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to ask Pa...Midir. So she waited and let the emotions of those around her soak in. She played a bit with the girl writing poetry in her journal. Sweet tasting, that one, with promise, but she didn't imprint herself on Aislinn's soul, so she got a pass with a dart of inspiration and that led to furious writing and her feeling a bit drained after. Just a little pick me up for Aislinn, who went back to her tea and writing a couple of lyrics on her napkin.

Nibbling on her lower lip, she tried to process the draw of him. Not an artist, not a poet, and his genius wasn't the sort that generally drew her skills, or attention. But there was something fascinating nonetheless, possibly in the sheer novelty of him. Because even if he wasn't an artist, but he appreciated it and he'd seen so many things she'd never heard of, read poems inspired by something on another world. And he was cute. And had a nice smile. And had given her tea.

Aislinn didn't process it much further than that, tired by that much focused introspection and not wanting to look at the little voice that whispered that with her one Immortal companion separated from her, her son involved in a relationship for the first time and not available to her as he used to be, her sister involved in intrigue at court that didn't interest Aislinn, it was possible, just maybe, that she was a little lonely. If the Doctor was, too? Well, that worked out well for them both, didn't it?

The waitress brought her more cream and another tea bag when she finished the first and Aislinn settled down to draw doodles around her little poem until the Doctor should arrive.

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alainn_aislinn

December 2007

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