Post by Moira ap Eiluned on Oct 19, 2010 0:40:02 GMT -8
Helen all but danced around the Garden Rooms, collecting up her meager store of possessions that she had only just finished putting out. She stuffed them back into the large blue monogrammed suitcases with glee, fairly bursting at the seams with joy.
This was fantastic, better than she’d dreamed. When she’d been told that she was to come here, to represent House Gwydion, she wasn’t under the impression that it was a vote of confidence. True, over the past four years she’d managed to move from unwanted addition to mascot to a level of grudging respect among the House members at Court. But it had been an uncomfortable thing for many of them – a Pooka in House Gwydion? If she hadn’t thrown herself into the training, excelled so at what they’d thrown at her in an attempt to overwhelm, she would have found herself in far worse shape. As it was, she was accepted...but only just. So when a call went to repopulate a war-torn area, a call from a Gwydion Duchess, a member of the House had to be sent as a matter of courtesy. Helen had known, when she was selected, that it was just a convenient way to shunt aside a confusing factor in the intricate politics of the High King’s Court. She’d hoped to have an opportunity to prove herself here.
But this, she’d never dreamed. She had embraced what Jezebel, her Pooka mentor and the only other Butterfly known since the Resurgence, had taught her, minding her manners and being polite and generous to everyone in full measure. She’d kept her House’s honor and the Seelie Code near to her heart, and found to her pleasure that the other newcomers were, on the whole, enjoyable and interesting. She’d anticipated hitting the same wall of mistrustful confusion amongst the noble Sidhe that she had in the Court, and was both baffled and warmed by their acceptance of her. She found herself wanting to give more of herself for it, to show that their trust was not misplaced.
Another suitcase slammed shut, and locked. Winning the tournament for performance had been an unexpected delight. Helen knew that she’d chosen a piece designed to show off her strongest talents, her flawless balance and extreme flexibility, but she’d never performed it as well as she did that day. She had still been floating on the high generated by the Satyr, and fueled by the joy she felt at being back in Seattle at last, with a purpose and a goal. She’d gone beyond herself, ecstatic with the power of movement, and given a performance worthy of Patricia Barker in her prime. And for it she’d been given so much more than she’d dreamed.
Helen made one last tour around the rooms, checking for anything she might have left behind. All clear. She’d only asked for one thing in exchange for her token, but she hadn’t really hoped to get it...a freehold, just a tiny one, someplace safe for her, someplace of her own. When she heard Mr. K’s call to band together in households, she’d had a moment of regret. She was of House Gwydion, and commoner or not, she would not serve under any of another house. She would not permit the chance of conflicting Oaths to cause irreparable damage to her honor or her friends. But she also knew that full Households would and should be given priority for such things. Still she found pleasure in flitting from group to group, checking in and making sure that everyone else present found a Household. It was good for them, to have the opportunities available to them as Households.
So when Mr. K called her over, she was astonished at what he said. It would seem that the Duchess was going to be returning to her primary Freehold shortly, and relinquishing the small Freehold at the top of the Smith Tower. It was only large enough to support two people, but that was all Helen had wanted. And, wonder of wonders, Mr. K said that she was to move in immediately, and that Duchess O’Brien would be training her for a time before she left the area. A Freehold, and not just any Freehold, but the Smith Tower...it had been the tallest building west of the Mississippi when it was built, a dream of growth and striving upward...and though its power might have waned through the years as the Tower was eclipsed by huge and ugly steel obelisks scraping the sky, it still held the breath, the seed, the memory of that Dream. Helen’s wings fluttered in harmony with that Dream. And training with both Mr. K and Duchess O’Brien, in addition to the sparring matches with Rene and Sir Simon, and lessons at PNB, and a war to fight and win honor and glory for her House and her name...what more could one butterfly want?
She looked at the stacked suitcases doubtfully. No, she’d just send the driver up for them. She bounded out the door and down the stairs, sliding to a halt in the Great Room, looking at the slightly wilted bunch of yellow roses on the side table. Helen opened the drawer in the table, rooted around until she found a pen and a cream-colored notecard.
Dear Mother, she wrote, in a long, smooth hand:
Sorry I missed you and Father; a friend just called and said she had an apartment in the city to sublet. It’s a fantastic place in Smith Tower, just a few minutes from PNB, so I can get to my lessons with no problem. I’m moving in today, you can call the front desk there and leave a message for me when you get home. We’ll do dinner!
Love,
Helen
She dropped the note on top of the one her mother had left for her under the roses, and dashed out the door, her feet scarcely touching the ground, as though borne aloft by invisible wings.
This was fantastic, better than she’d dreamed. When she’d been told that she was to come here, to represent House Gwydion, she wasn’t under the impression that it was a vote of confidence. True, over the past four years she’d managed to move from unwanted addition to mascot to a level of grudging respect among the House members at Court. But it had been an uncomfortable thing for many of them – a Pooka in House Gwydion? If she hadn’t thrown herself into the training, excelled so at what they’d thrown at her in an attempt to overwhelm, she would have found herself in far worse shape. As it was, she was accepted...but only just. So when a call went to repopulate a war-torn area, a call from a Gwydion Duchess, a member of the House had to be sent as a matter of courtesy. Helen had known, when she was selected, that it was just a convenient way to shunt aside a confusing factor in the intricate politics of the High King’s Court. She’d hoped to have an opportunity to prove herself here.
But this, she’d never dreamed. She had embraced what Jezebel, her Pooka mentor and the only other Butterfly known since the Resurgence, had taught her, minding her manners and being polite and generous to everyone in full measure. She’d kept her House’s honor and the Seelie Code near to her heart, and found to her pleasure that the other newcomers were, on the whole, enjoyable and interesting. She’d anticipated hitting the same wall of mistrustful confusion amongst the noble Sidhe that she had in the Court, and was both baffled and warmed by their acceptance of her. She found herself wanting to give more of herself for it, to show that their trust was not misplaced.
Another suitcase slammed shut, and locked. Winning the tournament for performance had been an unexpected delight. Helen knew that she’d chosen a piece designed to show off her strongest talents, her flawless balance and extreme flexibility, but she’d never performed it as well as she did that day. She had still been floating on the high generated by the Satyr, and fueled by the joy she felt at being back in Seattle at last, with a purpose and a goal. She’d gone beyond herself, ecstatic with the power of movement, and given a performance worthy of Patricia Barker in her prime. And for it she’d been given so much more than she’d dreamed.
Helen made one last tour around the rooms, checking for anything she might have left behind. All clear. She’d only asked for one thing in exchange for her token, but she hadn’t really hoped to get it...a freehold, just a tiny one, someplace safe for her, someplace of her own. When she heard Mr. K’s call to band together in households, she’d had a moment of regret. She was of House Gwydion, and commoner or not, she would not serve under any of another house. She would not permit the chance of conflicting Oaths to cause irreparable damage to her honor or her friends. But she also knew that full Households would and should be given priority for such things. Still she found pleasure in flitting from group to group, checking in and making sure that everyone else present found a Household. It was good for them, to have the opportunities available to them as Households.
So when Mr. K called her over, she was astonished at what he said. It would seem that the Duchess was going to be returning to her primary Freehold shortly, and relinquishing the small Freehold at the top of the Smith Tower. It was only large enough to support two people, but that was all Helen had wanted. And, wonder of wonders, Mr. K said that she was to move in immediately, and that Duchess O’Brien would be training her for a time before she left the area. A Freehold, and not just any Freehold, but the Smith Tower...it had been the tallest building west of the Mississippi when it was built, a dream of growth and striving upward...and though its power might have waned through the years as the Tower was eclipsed by huge and ugly steel obelisks scraping the sky, it still held the breath, the seed, the memory of that Dream. Helen’s wings fluttered in harmony with that Dream. And training with both Mr. K and Duchess O’Brien, in addition to the sparring matches with Rene and Sir Simon, and lessons at PNB, and a war to fight and win honor and glory for her House and her name...what more could one butterfly want?
She looked at the stacked suitcases doubtfully. No, she’d just send the driver up for them. She bounded out the door and down the stairs, sliding to a halt in the Great Room, looking at the slightly wilted bunch of yellow roses on the side table. Helen opened the drawer in the table, rooted around until she found a pen and a cream-colored notecard.
Dear Mother, she wrote, in a long, smooth hand:
Sorry I missed you and Father; a friend just called and said she had an apartment in the city to sublet. It’s a fantastic place in Smith Tower, just a few minutes from PNB, so I can get to my lessons with no problem. I’m moving in today, you can call the front desk there and leave a message for me when you get home. We’ll do dinner!
Love,
Helen
She dropped the note on top of the one her mother had left for her under the roses, and dashed out the door, her feet scarcely touching the ground, as though borne aloft by invisible wings.