View source for Log:She Walks in Beauty

{{ Log
| cast = [[November]], [[Franklyn_Garreau|Franklyn]] and [[Lux]],
| summary = Down by Lake Brunsett, Franklyn and November's snowy springtime walk intersects with the path of Lux, as the Vizier wishes to commune with the Ancient - and be introduced to her Mortal companion. It all proves a little overwhelming for Franklyn; but there reaches a point where from the perspective of a Mortal, the like between fae and True Fae just sort of blurs. After all: absolute power...
| gamedate = 2018.04.19
| gamedatename = 
| subtitle = "...you never told me you had such... delicious... acquaintances."
| location = [[LA05|Lake Brunsett - Western Fallside]]
| categories = Changeling Mortal
| log = Some people would be concerned by the prospect of walking around without a coat in barely-above-freezing weather with 85% humidity and snow. November? Nah. To add insult to injury, her hair remains as effortlessly sleek and fluid as ever. Split ends? Frizz? Not a thing that happens to the 'faerie queen' here.

SOME people would also fret about their cosmetics melting off their face, too, what with how expertly the rainbow's gently-slanted eyes are presently lined, bold blacks and tawny golds to match their, ah, perhaps TOO vivid amber colouration. That simply isn't a human eye colour. Really isn't. 

Beyond those facts, there is the simple truth that meandering through the forest the day after it has been SNOWING and RAINING, while it IS snowing all over again, is just asking for drips and mud and mess, especially the nearer they get to the waterfall and its attendant sprays of heavy mist.

This, of course, impacts November's decision to wear delicate petticoat-fluffed chiffon, tights, and five-inch stiletto heels not at all. Louboutins, even, their soles a bright pop of red to contrast with the caramels and creams and almonds of the rest of her attire. 

Is she getting muddy? Nope. Is she sinking down? Nope. Are branches catching her or dripping on her? Nope...

Point in fact, she is positively frisking, dancing past puddles and laughing as she concludes an anecdote of some kind. "...and THAT is why Yrrh won't come near waterfalls." The white crow HAD been with them, but flew off once he learned that this was where November intended for the duo to go.


It's cold, damnit.

People - real life, soul having, 100%% normal People, like Franklyn - can't just be traipsing around Lake Brunsett on a freezing Spring day unprotected from the elements. Franky is dressed, uh, almost appropriately in an abundance of layers of cream, fawn, and ivory knitwear, with a big natural sheepskin coat thrown atop it all. All the flouncy layers of ribbed knit and lacy crochet taper down to a pair of location appropriate tawny coloured duck boots - their gummed soles caked in mud, and sticking to the slushy ground as Franklyn glides -- sometimes literally slipping -- after November.

Yes, Franklyn's clothes are speckled in mud and melting snowflakes, here and there, from their journey. There's even a little twig that's woven itself into her messy top-knot. Why no hat, Franky? She's got gloves and a scarf - not that it's doing much to keep the Mortal girl's face from flushing pink in the cold.

"Well, I suppose if I had wings I'd be concerned about..." Franklyn fades off - squinting and squelching to a stop, as she turns to stare out at the waterfall. Only a momentary glance, then the green eyed Mortal snaps her attention back to November as she frolics. Slowly, a little smile twists her lips and a hand moves to rest on her hip. "...We've been here before."

Said in a low, but amused voice as she watches the Fairest carefully. "What's the story, morning glory?"


Down the path comes Lux. If one was watching -really- closely one might notice that as she rounds the bend her cloak - which is drawn tightly around her due to the cold - shifting into white, a spreading color change that is just ending at the base where it was once completely black. No longer so, the once shadowy cloak now radiates like daylight bound by shadow lines that hold the light in place. And despite being in the wilderness and having just come from 'somewhere' Lux looks as if she just stepped out of a dressing room with professional stylists. Of course she does. 

Spying November and an as yet unknown other other woman she starts to turn toward them. For the particularly observant there is the slightest of hesitation - uncharacteristic for Lux - before she starts that way. Eyes harden ever so slightly, but a broad smile is put on her face in unnaturally red ruby lips. Instantly the Changeling starts walking different, moving even more gracefully over disastrous ground. It's like there is a subtle bit of competition suddenly in the Bright One's movements, as she approaches the pair.

"November," she says with a light tip of her head. The light that pools around her feet due to her Wyrd sparkles slightly, sending up whiffs of bright light-smoke that float in the air, crackling slightly with anticipated electricity and changing to a subtle shade of green. Unlike November, Lux does not bother to hide her Mien, letting it shine in full glory... and bleed over into reality for those who cant see that side of the Wyrd.


Flashing a bright smile Franklyn's way, November turns and does a graceful twirl in place, arms up as if to embrace the sky, head tipping back to gaze into the snowy heavens with the surety of one who is quite certain of her place in all of this. Self-doubt? That's for people who aren't gods.

"We have!" The rainbow's reply broadens that smile into a brief and impish grin, potential trouble POSSIBLY softened by the warmth in amber eyes. Possibly. This IS November. "Scout's honour," she promises, holding up three fingers, thumb pinning her pinky down against her palm, "I have not altered your perception of this place today." Was she ever actually a Girl Scout..? There's a thought.

Spying Lux over Franklyn's shoulder, she lifts that hand to wave to the Vizier, a twinkly wiggle of slender digits. "Lux, darling, how unexpected." She turns to Franklyn and, being a polite creature, introduces, "Franklyn, this is Lux, an old friend from Aleswich, Maine." Looking to Lux, a palm opens as she extends a hand toward Franklyn in turn. "Lux, this is Franklyn Garreau. Ensorcelled to Count, last I knew..?" She glances at Franklyn here, as if for verification.


There is Franklyn, hand on her hip as she listens to November's answer - nearly smiling, looking all wryly amused at the chilly Fairest's near-warmth, moving to open her mouth and reply and--- and then blammo: a /Wyrd/ feeling. At first the Mortal girl gives the masked Fairest a more curious look, her head and body turning as she spots November looking over her own shoulder -- and that's when the appearance of Lux moving effortlessly over mucky forest floor over yonder grabs her attention.

Franklyn just stares.

She doesn't fidget, she doesn't yelp, she doesn't even blink - not at first. Franklyn just watches this unknown entity start to speak to her hiking companion, and... Have her eyes totally glossed over, or what? Glazed like a donut, and seemingly just as talkative. Only her eyes move to follow a tendril of that backlit smoke as it transforms into something static and green.

And while Franklyn may be immobile physical, that emotional aura of hers is---... Well it's very active, but without focus who can tell what the stunned Mortal is really feeling.

Franklyn may as well be a statue.

Psst. Girl. A question's been asked of you... Franklyn blinks slowly, but... She neither denies nor confirms November's introductory remarks.


There is a slight pause in Lux's movements as the girl reacts. And then, slowly like blood spilling across a pale white glowing surface, her smile spreads. Those red lips go wide. She is pleased. Very pleased. Her hands fold in front of her cloak, fingers gripping the forearms of the other. 

"Well, Franklyn. How pleasant to meet you." Her smile grows even more deep, perhaps a tad bit predatory as she speaks. The green in her light-smoke shifts colors rapidly, flickering blue then red then a purple, where it finally settles. The charged electricity dissipates from it and is replaced by soft curls that seem to be chasing each other through the wyrd created effect. "My my my. November, you never told me you had such... delicious... acquaintances." Her gaze shifts back to Franklyn. "As November says, I am Lux Shadowcaster." She doesn't offer a hand.


November, upon noting Franklyn's reaction, steps closer to the mortal, her Mantle's giddy energy and crisp potential giving the icy Spring air an extra bit of freshness. Dawn, after all. The world is new.

Smiling to Lux, amused by the other woman's reaction, the rainbow slides a pale palm over Franklyn's back to draw herself close against the mortal's sheepskin-covered shoulder, a reassuring squeeze offered to the back of Frank's far arm as a frigid kiss is pressed to that near temple. 

A murmur, too, though not inaudible if Lux is listening closely.

"Franklyn, dearheart, best not to act like prey. You're better than that."

The affection would be so much nicer if she weren't so flipping COLD. Transferring her humour to Lux, the Ancient asks, "What brings you here today?" with an air of lively curiosity. Her arm is still holding Franklyn, mind. Reassurance or an attempt at stopping her from bolting? Unclear.
 

Finally Franklyn regains that animation -- she moves, straightening up her body and stepping back, a pace closer to November. There. Now she can keep both Fairest's in her eye line. Her hands move, smoothing out the line of her sheepskin jacket, before the big black bag on her shoulder is adjusted, and then her hands primly clasped together in front of her. 

She's smiling now, right? Yes. Hazy sure, but still technically a smile - bing! Bright and wide, although close lipped. Franklyn bobs her head agreeably as Lux speaks to her, but her mouth doesn't open. She just smiles. Smiles! Such a smile -- and her eyes flick over to where November is, while Lux compliments her fellow Fairest on keeping good company.

Smiling. Franklyn is cool, she's calm, she's collected -- there is absolutely nothing beyond a vague, casual curiosity wrapped up in a ditsy, hazy kind of day-dreaminess. 

Then she's laughing, after November brushes by and plants a frosty kiss; leaving a pink mark of chill on Franklyn's cheek. She beams, head tilted and arm reaching up to pat November on the forearm; like she was totally comfortable with being held onto and kept here as the two Fairest's start chatting. Because Lux is a Fairest, right? Franklyn watches her with the same, wide bright and hazy smile on her lips.

...No interruptions.


The interaction is watched, the sound of whispered words probably caught. The smile softens a tad - only a small amount - then Lux raises one hand to her mouth, as if to cover it. 

"The Goddess is a Trickster, hmm. Should she be trusted?" A Whisperwisp can send whispered messages and this one is for Franklyn's ears only as it travels through the distance, heard clearly by the Ensorcelled and left out of November's hearing. And of course, Lux covers her lips. November is far to observant to let -that- bit be given away by a bit of lip reading.

Out loud, she speaks softly but with authority. "Ah," She says to Novembers question after lowering her hand. "I recently purchased some land on an island," she says with a gesture out into the water. "You know how ... observation of the area..." Odd that there are such gaps and pauses in the words, as if Lux isn't talking about herself but something else. She moves on from that topic briskly. "In any case, you always bring out the best in me, so I figured I would come speak with you and your friend after I spotted you."


The goddess IS a Trickster, yes, but she is a trickster who seems intent on soothing her pet mortal. Ahem. Friend. Yes, friend.

November does, indeed, know gaps and silences and Other Things, smiling in response to Lux's words. Head tilting in thought, eyes sliding off toward the pristine white of drifting flakes and deer-prints in the nearby snow, she's quiet a moment, then asks, "Have you seen Count since you arrived? Please don't kill him unless he attacks first."

The arm around Franklyn, rather than chilling her, becomes a source of soothing, sunny warmth instead, the Fairest's body radiating more-than-human heat, despite her Mask. Poor Mask. It can only hide so much. None of this is visible on the outside, of course. Nor will it be, if November has anything to say about it! 

"Franklyn does good work at one of the theatres here in the city," she adds, and gestures with her free hand for Lux to join her when she urges Franklyn to start walking again, along perfectly human paths made by perfectly human people (presumably) with no (visible) magical monsters or gates to Somewhere Else. Nearer the waterfall, not toward the city, and, to Franklyn, she adds a somewhat more serious, "I'll keep you safe," while stepping around a patch of slippery stone. 

Safe from sliding arse-first into the lake, or something else?


Franklyn's gloved hand raises -- not to cover her mouth like the cloaked Fairest has done, but to swoop some loose strands of hair out of her eyes before she presses at her temples a bit. Is she distracted? She's looking around -- over to the trees, the snow, the way the weak sunlight gives everything a glittering glow.

Oh. Not just the sunlight. The Fairest light, too.

Regardless of anything she may've heard, the Mortal girl is accepting November's arm -- vaguely smiling, looking all daydreamy and patient and not fussed about anything. Only when November speaks -- not about Count, but surely she /heard/ that -- does Franklyn look back to her and Lux in turn, nodding in agreement at the mention of the theatre.

Seriously. Cat got your tongue, Franky?

Urged along, Franklyn adjusts her bag on her other shoulder - but those bottle green eyes still have a glassy, distracted look about them - who knows if she's really paying deep attention to either of the Changelings. It's not until November adds the bit about safety that Franklyn focuses up nodding -- not watching the Ancient, but the path around them.

The wet stones near the edge of the lake. Frank says nothing, but she does sigh -- wistful, right? Sure. Look how beautiful the lake is -- all that /water/.


Lux's eyes harden slightly. Is that a flash of Rage that slips through the green irises, filling them with a heat that seems to also mix slightly with the Wyrd that pools around her? Possibly it is. Lux schools her face to neutrality, but not before that momentary bit slips through that November is sure to notice. A flash of blue slips through those eyes, becoming an icy color that might almost match November's flesh. A slight nod is given - understanding, agreement, acceptance. Then the green is back in full force and Lux smiles.

Lux tips her head toward Franklyn after being told she is of the arts. "Ah," her voice is natural, no hint of any distress that might have been in her eyes a moment ago. "I am often a patreon of the arts. Which theater? I have been meaning to find a place to spend my resources on such things. A supporter would not go amiss at your theater, I presume?"


November, having spotted that rage, gives Lux a look of acknowledgement which promises later explanation, and limits her own leggy stride to Franklyn's, wordlessly continuing in her role as self-appointed human-heater-upper. It's only polite. 

Once they reach the railing by the 'falls, she puts her back/side to it, leaving Franklyn with an easy view of the lake -- and Lux, silhouetted so prettily against the trees and snow-devouring water. It has been warm enough that the ice on the lakewater is far from solid here, but there is still enough for wild birds to waddle over in the distance, quacking or honking to one another in quiet -- for a goose -- communication. 

Does she talk? Nah. Lux asked Franklyn a question. It's Franklyn's turn.


First rule of maintaining a facade of calm: do not look directly at the raging Fairest -- but keep an ear out, in case there's something that needs to be heard...

Hmmm? Franklyn's silent reflection of the Lake Aesthetics is interrupted, as she realises she's being addressed directly. By Lux. Oh my! The brightness of her smile lights up that perfectly Earthen face, and Franklyn's hands flutters through the air - dismissive little gesture, although she could just be dancing hand-in-hand with the snowflakes that fall all around.

"Green Door Theatre, in Fort Brunsett -- we're the premier performing arts and culture venue in the region." That smile widens a little bit - complicated - and Franklyn takes in a deep breath before she nods; but after looking to meet Lux's eye, it takes her a heartbeat or two before she continues; "We've been very blessed, but there is always room for patrons at the theatre." A pause, then her smile widens even further. "I've got a script in the works, actually - early stages, it's a modern Brechtian interpretation of Spring Awakening..."

That said, she starts to laugh. See? She can talk! Why, her infliction and tone even suggests a small fortune in stage school tuition. Oh, the projection of that laugh! So musical -- so... Damned amused. At what? The world, perhaps.


Well, now Lux is slightly less interested. Other patrons. How sad. Still, gears are turning behind those green eyes and she nods her head. "We shall need to arrange a time to meet there, and for me to take a tour of your performance area. And of course to sign checks." Her smile is back to being slightly predatory. "Just the two of us, hmm? I do so prefer one on one arrangements for such endeavors, when learning about new acts to patron. I can meet the rest of your troupe later, of course, but I have the feeling you are the far most important part of it."

Lux moves as she finishes talking, taking a place opposite of November on Franklyn, keeping the mortal between them. She instead faces the railing, standing prim and proper without touching the wood. She watches the water with eyes that are softening after whatever it was that set her off.
 
 
November stands in silence, idly caressing the back of Franklyn's arm with a heated hand!


Franklyn's smile remains as Lux speaks to her -- if she picks up in the waning interest, no comment is made. The Mortal girl merely walks along, up close to November, her pace steady with an even Earthen grace, listening. "If that's something you'd like, we can arrange a time -- would you prefer day or night?"

Perfectly normal question to ask. People's schedules, right?!

"There's nearly always someone in the theatre itself, but I can give you a private tour of the auditorium and backstage. My family have been active in the region for a very long time now -- but I admit, seeing the old horse training stables transformed into a theatre made me feel like /I/ was leaving a mark, rather than walking in footsteps."

Franklyn smiles wider, then mmmphs and looks to November - who is quiet - before tugging at the cuff of her own sleeve, adjusting her gloves, and looking back to Lux. "Who is your favourite muse,..." A beat. How does one address a Fairest like Lux? As a complete. Franky's smile remains, "Lux Shadowcaster?"


There is a twinkle of a laugh, like falling glass on porcelain. "Lux is perfectly fine, Miss Franklyn. Vizier if you prefer a title." Her hands fold across one another again, but this time behind her back as she turns slightly to angle toward Franklyn. "Ah, so you developed the theater yourself? How marvelous. Industrious moments like that are to be treasured." 

The wyrd about her flutters, spreading out in a wider pool, the light drifting liquid like against all forms of physics and gravity wherever it pleases as the pool spreads. More smoke drifts up from it, forming a low level layer across the ground of twinkling smoke wisps, filled now with the color of orange. The swirls that chased each other before are replaced with diamond patterns that repeat endlessly into fractal detail within the smoke. 

"Oh, darling. I do not have a muse. My talents are far outside the creativity of the Arts. I patron them because I cannot do them, and beauty has a place in this world." And money is power, of course. Nothing is really free, and patrons to the arts have known this for centuries.


November remains content to observe, to measure the interactions of the oh so different duo, though she doesn't leave Franklyn's side, and, polite creature that she is, murmurs a helpful explanation of, "The Viziers are eternal advisors, lovely, who may be called upon by our leaders to guide us with the wisdom gained by...mmm...in-depth experience of our world."


"Ms. Garreau." Franklyn corrects. Oh really? Oh /really/, she does -- with a smile, and an incline of her head. No insult in the slightest, no scoff of indignation either - just simple clarification. Her glove hand smooths over the side of her jacket, and she stays by November's side as she listens to Lux - smiling still, nodding vaguely - then laughing. Has she caught what November says? Of course. but she chatters on: "Well... Rome wasn't built in a day, and not by one hand either -- theatre itself is a collective enterprise, so it stands that creating the conditions for its realisation are -also- done through the collaborative process. Like I said; my family have been in Fort Brunsett a long time, and I am blessed with the, like, favour of trusts and foundations that support the arts in Vermont."

Trusts and Foundations. Huh. Maybe it's not all individual patrons them, eh?

Now that Franklyn has started to talk, it may be hard for her to -stop- -- but her attention, it keeps getting snapped up, her eyes drifting to follow the smoke - an every time she realises, she tries to look back at Lux's face, only to find herself caught up again with the swirling, twinkling mists.

Abruptly, without warning, Franklyn is laughing. She's laughing and looking back at Lux, her head tilted, eyebrows raised. "The Muses extend far beyond performative or plastic arts -- astronomy, history---" Then she abruptly stops, takes a breath, and attempts to keep that smile. A pause, then Franklyn adds quietly; "...so I have a difficult time believing you do not contribute beauty to the world. Perhaps your Muse only has a secret name."


For a long moment Lux stares with slightly hostile eyes at the correction from Franklyn. Then, extremely abruptly, she laughs, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ms. Garreau," she corrects with a tilt of her head, before glancing over her at November.

"Oh, November, you certainly have a lovely one here," she comments as if Franklyn was not even there to listen. 

"That is what they say. Many things can be a persons reason de etre, non?" she says as her attention returns to Franklyn and her French is Parisian perfect. "However, I assure you Ms. Garreau," she says with a shake of her head and a strange note of utter truthfullness in her voice. "There is no such thing for me, secret or otherwise. Extraneous circumstances, that I will not go into - But as you must know, being aquainted with the likes of November or Count... And many others in this area... Many of us are no longer human. Unlike most of them, I am even less so." A hint of sadness perhaps colors her green eyes before the slightly predatory smile overtakes it. "So perhaps November is right to be so protective of you."
 

November's phone issues a discreet, electronic but extremely convincing imitation of a chickadee's fee-bee mating call. The sound does not repeat, and the rainbow does not reach for her phone, leaving the question: where on earth IS it? Does that skirt have pockets somehow?

While the rainbow leaves discussion of muses to mortal and Vizier, she does breathe a quiet laugh when Lux mentions Count in context of 'no longer human'... Bright amber eyes fix on the other fae, laughter still dancing in her gaze, despite the 'helpfulness' of her tone as she explains, "Franklyn's Count states, vehemently, that we are still human, lovely. We are humans who are deluded, but human." Her tone states the contrary, respectful disagreement.


Franklyn remains poised as Lux stares at her -- although there is a slight shifting, as she straightens her shoulders and tugs at her gloves again, like she was brushing away invisible dust. Nothing there, Frank. The abrupt laughter from the cloaked Fairest does not trigger any echoes in Franklyn -- that smile widens, but stays closed lipped once more.

No comment, when she's spoken about like she's not here. Nothing.

As the conversation shifts back to the Muses, Franklyn remains attentive -- really, it might be difficult for her to look anywhere else, save the whirling Wyrdness around Lux; but some of that animation is returning to the Mortal girl, who sways like she was a riverside reed, all tan and drab, just some thin slip of a thing, fixed and growing right up next to the unexpected warmth and splendent chromatic spectacle which is November. Her clothes rustle in the breeze, and Franklyn's cheeks remain all pink with chill.

While Lux speaks, Franklyn says nothing. No corrections. No interruptions. She merely listens with that hazy, vague smile on her face. Polite and poised and hardly moving as she's spoken too; save those eyes, watching Lux's movements, gestures, expression. The colour of her eyes. The glint in her predators smile. The complicated beauty. Finally, Franklyn turns as November speaks -- watching her instead.

Then her head turns, and Franklyn murmurs softly; "November, your phone..."

What is Franklyn -- a handmaiden?!


The laugh that comes out of Lux is bright, clear, and mocking. "November, this Count - the same I heard of from Maine? - can speak whatever he wishes to. Some of us are not, and have not been Human ... for a long time. If ever. I am not. I am light and mystery. I am air and lies. I am ..." She trails off, perhaps remembering that Franklyn is actually there. She smiles at the mortal. 

"Lux is the Shadowcast," she (?) says finally, and in such a way that indicates she may have only just made the decision. On top of all that her voice has shifted slightly, to be more close to a whisper and less proud. The words seem directed at November, and there is that flash of blue in her eyes again. Then its all back to green and Lux is shaking her head as if to clear it. "I am afraid... I must be going. There is work to be done. Franklyn, I will contact you soon regarding that tour. November." A nod of her head to each and then she is turning to stride away.


November, in response to Franklyn's murmur, smiles a light, "It will wait." Note: will. Not can. It may be junk, it may be an urgent message, but it will wait because she wants it to.

Confirming Lux's query regarding Count with a dip of her head and a spill of many-coloured hair forward over a shoulder, she makes no comment on The Nature of Lux, though she does meet the green-blue-green gaze with calm focus. The incipient departure is met with a warm, "I will find you later," toward the cloaked and oh so well-lit Lux.


This is all perfectly normal - why wouldn't Franklyn be smiling, turning to keep Lux in her vision as the Fairest laughs. No twitching, no frowning, no running fully clothed in an icy lake to avoid the other woman, no. Nothing like that. Franklyn watches, she listens, she nods her head a very faction of a millimetre in acknowledgement to Lux's words. Daydreamy and quiet -- how odd, for a theatre director to be shy. But stranger things have happened, eh?

The only time her expression shifts, is when Lux speaks of herself in third person. Then, Franklyn's brow creases just a -bit-, puzzled or perplexed at the whisper, the subtle... Well is it really a change? It's not like the Mortal girl knows - and faeries are so... Strange.

Franklyn blinks Lux turns away, and she nods her head once. At least her voice sounds light: "I will watch out for you." Called after her, as the Mortal watches her glide off...

...when she manages to look away, Franklyn turns, and stares at November. In silence.


She COULD go sit on the man-made wooden railing. It's right beside her, after all. But no, no, the fluffy-skirted Fairest -- pardon, So Totally Human ZOMG Wow A Real Person -- sidesteps, leaving Franklyn's side for the first time since Lux appeared, and drops down onto a boulder of convenient height instead.

"That was unexpected," is her first remark, once she's reasonably certain that Lux has departed, beyond the reach of kenning the other woman's presence. Studying Franklyn in silence, the rainbow eventually assures, "I would not willingly betray you to the Kindly Ones, though under the circumstances, your suspicions were understandable; she does tend to be a bit...mmm...much. Her opinions of humans are not mine, but her position forbids her from working against freehold leadership. Still... be wary. She is not one to anger; revenge is swift. We -are- all obligated to protect you from true harm, so she will be oathbroken if she ever fails in that duty on purpose." Her head tilts, amber eyes searching Franklyn's to see whether the ensorcelled young woman knew that fact.


Franklyn stares. She stares as November moves, she stares as she sits down, and she stares until she speaks -- that done, she stares until November finishes speaking. Franklyn is very observant. Not at one moment during the staring does she move, besides the very soft swaying - ever so slightly - which gives her that riverside reed vibe. 

But that ends too.

Right around the time November's masked amber eyes start searching her face - prying into her expression, really /looking/ at her - Franklyn... Lux is gone now, right? She turns to look left and right and all around. If her eyes are even focusing, who can tell -- because when Franklyn looks back at November... 

She just bursts into tears, and covers her face.

Really. It shouldn't be a surprise.


She may be a mostly-inhuman creature well on her way to serving the whims of Fate, but she isn't without empathy; when Franklyn bursts into tears, November springs lightly up from her perch, fluffy skirts whispering against the petticoat beneath, and takes the few strides necessary to enfold the poor traumatised woman in an embrace, one oddly warm hand curling up, sheepskin and all, to cradle the back of Franklyn's neck and head. 

The rainbow doesn't murmur platitudes. It isn't going to 'be alright' and everything isn't 'fine'.

She simply holds Franklyn, protective, welcoming, comforting, without saying a word, weight shifting ever-so-slightly side to side until -Franklyn- makes a move to withdraw herself. Or otherwise!

Oddly, her flesh smells a bit like incense and cinnamon. Just what DOES she look like under that mask?
}}