When the winds begin to sing...

[coldsong]

There's a woman in the Nexus that some may find familiar in a way they cannot...quite...place, that others will no doubt assume is new, that one or two may know as 'Rowan', and that at least three will know as Loki--but hush, don't tell. Her hair is long and dark, her eyes green and backlit with a coolly conspiratorial spark, and her dress is simple, only a plain black gown with a green coat over it.

She's singing, without accompaniment, pitch-perfect and eerily sweet:

The snow it melts the soonest when the wind begins to sing
The swallow flies without a thought as long as it is spring
but when spring goes and winter blows, my love, then you'll be free
For all your pride, to follow me, were't cross the raging sea.

People who pass her more than once might hear variations on the lyrics or pace of the tune, but honestly, if you pass her once and then come back your judgment is slightly questionable, because something about her projects not-quite-normal, even more so than Loki's usual courtly shape and bearing.

"Nexus," she asks at length, "How long can you maintain a fit of pique? Are you angry for a night? A month? A lifetime? For thousands of years?"

"When you do forgive, does it come from a conscious decision made of noble heart and sound mind, a need for survival, or is it a gesture of pure desperate sentimentality?"

The Calm Before The Storm

[outpostcook]

 Something's been bothering Kinner. There's a visible unhappiness in the little cook's expression, even beyond his usual gruff attitude. He sits in the Plaza, thinking, for once not manning his fish shop. He's going after the Thing soon, and he's not completely sure what to make of that. He knows exactly how dangerous the alien is. Even if the Thing where he'll be going isn't exactly the same creature, it's close enough. In some ways, it sounds even worse. But he can't give up with lives on the line.

He's got a better idea of what to expect than most, but that's a small comfort. After all, the Thing incapacitated and devoured Kinner alive, without much of a fight. This time he'll be better armed and better prepared, but still. He's not exactly thrilled about facing the creature, even with help. And, he realizes with a hint of sickness, he'll be putting his new friends in danger, too.

Kinner, when push comes to shove, isn't scared to look death in the face, and it's Palmer's world, but it's everyone else he's afraid for. Horvath. Alex. Blaze and Ghost. Prometheus. Cricket. Cricket most of all, since the others have magic or other quirks to protect them. Cricket doesn't. Kinner would rather he die than Cricket.

At the very least, he won't make an easy meal this time.

"Have you ever had somethin' you didn't want to do," he finally asks, voice trembling a little, "but you had to do it anyway? Were you scared?"

GOATS

[blackgoat]

"Do you have children?"

The voice seemed to come before the lady, as if the question summoned her, rather than was actually spoken.

Small, demure in appearance, lovely in a way that quickly extended itself into the realm of disquieting. She seemed doll like, unliving and not quite made of flesh.

Little hands resting on a heavily pregnant belly, the woman draped in heavy Victorian dresses of stone grays, off whites and dull sky blues, with that porcelain skin and wild snow white hair, she'd almost look like she was trying to blend into the snow.

"If you do not, do you want them?"

Ah, so it was her speaking, the voice soft and sweet, if... off, in an odd way. A tone that crept up the spine and settled into the neck and base of the skull, like cold fingers pressed against the nape.