singindemonhq (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
singindemonhq) wrote2010-04-06 11:20 am
singindemonhq) wrote2010-04-06 11:20 am
Theatrical Muse 327 "Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home." - Matsuo Basho,
He’s had homes in the past, of course – and not only official residences. By now he’s also probably had as many places to stay as he’s had names – he sheds them like a snake shedding skin, forgotten as he heads out to the next role, the next dimension, the next Gig - but those aren’t homes.
(He’d told a woman that she was his home, once.)
It was only the there was a Hunter’s Moon on the night of the last Gig. It was surfing above a storm-tossed forest with wisps of cloud streaming across it like prey fleeing some unseen predator. It’d made him think of her, but he didn’t do that often; not any more. It was just that the full moon sometimes reminded him, especially on a wild night, when the wind wailed through the winter trees and a gale howled across the moors. He’d watched the dried leaves of winter swirl up in the teeth of a playful wind and … remembered.
He’d been called to do the most recent Gig in a country that was having a hard winter. It was cold enough for the frost in the wind to burn on the skin, in the wild places. He’d been glad to get to the warmth of a town and the light-hearted songs of the first act. The subtext had started to show early, this time. There was a woman who sang about clutter, a lost parrot and a choral number at a swimming club, but there were too many clichéd broken hearts and one temporarily happy couple that was worse.
The sky was a leaden grey by sunset, with the first few snowflakes already sleeting down. By the time the Gig built to its midnight climax the blizzard was a whirling vortex. It reminded him of a time that a fair-sized drift had been sucked through the portal with the Team, but back then there was a soundtrack in a minor key and the skies had wept snow.
He hadn’t taken a queen from the last Gig. Oh, he’d have to, soon. The Lore’s the Lore … but not just yet. There’d be another Gig soon enough.
The Team were probably preparing already.
Muse, "Sweet" the singing demon
Fandom, BTVS
Words, 360
(He’d told a woman that she was his home, once.)
It was only the there was a Hunter’s Moon on the night of the last Gig. It was surfing above a storm-tossed forest with wisps of cloud streaming across it like prey fleeing some unseen predator. It’d made him think of her, but he didn’t do that often; not any more. It was just that the full moon sometimes reminded him, especially on a wild night, when the wind wailed through the winter trees and a gale howled across the moors. He’d watched the dried leaves of winter swirl up in the teeth of a playful wind and … remembered.
He’d been called to do the most recent Gig in a country that was having a hard winter. It was cold enough for the frost in the wind to burn on the skin, in the wild places. He’d been glad to get to the warmth of a town and the light-hearted songs of the first act. The subtext had started to show early, this time. There was a woman who sang about clutter, a lost parrot and a choral number at a swimming club, but there were too many clichéd broken hearts and one temporarily happy couple that was worse.
The sky was a leaden grey by sunset, with the first few snowflakes already sleeting down. By the time the Gig built to its midnight climax the blizzard was a whirling vortex. It reminded him of a time that a fair-sized drift had been sucked through the portal with the Team, but back then there was a soundtrack in a minor key and the skies had wept snow.
He hadn’t taken a queen from the last Gig. Oh, he’d have to, soon. The Lore’s the Lore … but not just yet. There’d be another Gig soon enough.
The Team were probably preparing already.
Muse, "Sweet" the singing demon
Fandom, BTVS
Words, 360