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Private Tea Time!


R. Lutece

August 27th-Year 108
@John Uskglass

The magical forest of the Vales was a place where the wise stayed well-away from. It’s magical creatures, it’s far more magical folk, were not the kind to be crossed, at least not without being prepared with at least several potions and back-up spells. Witchcraft and the like were the domination here, and so the deeper parts of the magical forest remained, marginally, untouched.

And yet, as the clock, and all the clocks in Pandora, chimed four in the afternoon, a curious thing happened. A small flicker-flash of light. A clearing of smart-looking oak trees suddenly played host to a charming little black metal table, decorated with leaf-like designs and whimsical roses decorated across the four legs. Three, and exactly three, matching chairs organized themselves around the center table, where a delightful tray of finger sandwiches and scones stood on the center, as well as a nice china pot of warm tea, and three cups.

”He is late.”

”He will be late.”

Two were already there, in this sudden tea-party that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Ginger twins, with green eyes and smart crème suits. A Lady and a Gentleman so identical it would make your eyes cross to look at them too long.

”Well, so long as he’s only late once.” Robert assured his ‘sister’, who was sipping her cup of tea with a soft ‘hmm’ sound.

”Yes well…. One can only really be late once…”

”And only so long as one knows they have something to be late for.”

”Ah.” She said with a nod, ”I see what you mean.”

They continued to sip their tea even as 4pm became 4:01pm, then 4:02pm. It was of very little matter to the twins. Nothing of time was truly of any real matter to them. Not anymore…

”Have you tried the scones?”

”Had tried the scones. Specifically with the clotted cream….”

”Quite tasteful.”


Rosalind set her tea cup back upon her pretty china saucer, pretty pink roses danced along it’s surface, and quite eerily in sync: the two turned to stare into the clearing ahead where their guest was sure to arrive, perhaps even had already arrived. As patient as ever, like silent and still statues.

John Uskglass

It was not long before he was aware of the newcomers.There was always a messenger somewhere to tell him of the goings on in his own realm, and what kind of King would he be if he did not stay on top of such matters? The two were, in and of themselves nothing so out of the ordinary -- not in a place such as this after all. The constant appearances and disappearances of his folk made It seem more unusual for any who lived within his brugh or the surrounding woodlands to stoop to something so common as using a door, and as for their appearance...well, in a place where Broken Promises and wigs made from living beetles were considered fashionable accessories, where woman wore gowns the colors of Storms and Autumn Sunsets, what was an extraordinary similarity in appearance? Even to the point of a strange syncing in their actions?

No, rather, it was their manner that was more a surprise to the young King than aught else As he arrived just on the edge of the clearing, the shadows of the oaks providing him shelter, that was the first thing he noticed. How very unconcerned they were, and how they seemed be waiting for something. There was a third,empty seat at their table...

He eyed that table with some suspicion, it has the look of wrought iron to him, an though he was not Sidhe himself, the metal was....distracting if not properly prepared for.

He id not know who they were, and he did not trust their purpose here. In the breeze that whispered though the trees, and in the dappled patterns of light that danced across the undergrowth, the forest asked him a question.

"Yes." the Raven King murmured,

And with those words, the twisting roots and brambles that covered the forest floor began to creep forwards, with intent, towards the two.

((oh god >.< I'm sorry he's like this, really I am xD))
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They both turned to gaze upon John Uskglass. Or rather: the direction that John Uskglass stood. Or would have stood. If he was actually in that direction, or not, in this universe was of no real concern to them. They don’t seem to mind the Brambles, either. One moment trees creep towards them, wrap around iron chairs, but they seem to grasp, weakly, at the air. Almost as if They, the singular, are ghosts. But also not ghosts. And the trees, no matter how magically inclined, cannot grasp what is not within their nature. Their quantum force.

”A boy sits under a tree in England.”

She, Rosalind, is no longer at the table. In but a flash, she stands neatly behind John Uskglass’ right shoulder. She holds an apple where before she held her tea cup.

”As he doses, pondering about the concepts of science, an apple lands upon his head.” Robert replies, and suddenly he is at the king’s left shoulder.

”Boink. Like so. Thus the concept of gravity is in fact, born.”

Rosalind lets the apple fall. It flickers for a moment, then disappears.

”But this is but a fantasy, dreamt up by the public, to explain a brilliant mind.”

Rosalind hums softly: ”In physics, as much in any force of nature, every reaction has an equal….”

”And opposite.”


They lean forward, smile, tilt their head, almost in sync. As if they are one being, rather than two. ”Is that not also so with magic?”

Then they are gone, back to sitting at their table, sipping their tea, trees still wiggling about them, not sure what, if anything, to grab, awaiting a king’s order.

”A boy from England sits under a tree.”

”A King.”

”A raven? No, I rather think a magpie.”

”Must you irritate our guests?” Robert asks, exasperated. He gestures to the seat, ”Join us for tea? And perhaps polite conversation?”

”We shall take only the most appropriate amount of your time.” Rosalind assures, calmly sipping her own tea. ”And will do you absolutely no harm. Treat us like a dream…”

”A midsummer’s night one?”

”We were always dreadful at Shakespeare.”

John Uskglass

It was as though they weren't there at all. Snaking undergrowth, twining ivy and grasping brambles; tree roots groaning as they heaved themselves free from the earth, bursting through the ground with the roar of the dirt and clay above crashing over itself; the floor of the clearing itself might have been torn up entirely, yet it had no effect on the two intruders into his wood.

For his part, The Raven King allowed very little past to show. Only a sharp intake of breath, that was the only indication of surprise. He knew better than to let it be known when he was taken off guard, those moments of weakness -- that was when the wolves pounced. No, instead he only stood there, his expression as cool, as remote, as unreadable as ever as his companions appeared beside him

They reminded him of no one so much as Robin Goodfellow, the manner in which they darted about first there, then here, a tea cup an apple and then gone again -- all for no point or purpose other than to put on a show. Certainly, a lifetime spent living with Auberon's court jester had steeled him, prepared him in such a way that he did not even flinch as first one than the other appeared at his side.

He remained still, his gaze merely sliding from one to the other as each they spoke-- finishing one another's sentences -- his brows rising as the two once more departed back to their previous positions.

The forest still reached out, still grasping for something that it could not grasp. His lips thinning out, a low sigh escaping him, the Raven King reached out his hand, and with a mere gesture the roots the He could see when there was no point, better not to expend the effort on something so...fruitless.

He eyed them as they continued to speak, invited him to sit. Clearly they knew him -- or knew of him -- from the way in which they spoke.

"Treat us like a dream…” The woman said, assuring him that they meant him no harm.

Something almost like the faintest ghost of a smirk touched at the corner of the King's lips. "That would imply," He mused, "That a dream can do no harm..." Yet even as he spoke, the young man approached, settling himself in the empty seat, his legs pulled up beneath him and his posture more suggesting one more used to leaning back against the trunks of trees and perching upon old stones and fallen logs. He was curious, what more was to be said? He wanted to see just where this might lead...
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The twins looked at each other, even blinked once or twice, as he made mention that the implication was that dreams could do harm. Perhaps sometimes, in magic forms and the like, before finally shrugging and turning their attention to their guest.


”In your world, at least.”

”But in our current case, at least scientifically, all magic non-withstanding…”

”We in fact, speak truth. We are more dream than harm.”

Rosalind poured out a cup of tea for their guest, setting it in front of him, before she lifted up the sugar dish with a firm but demonstrative hand, like a flair, like she was beholding some kind of potential gift. Or choice.


Robert lifted the cream pitcher, with the same flair, as if this was some kind of demonstration, rather than just tea time. ”Or cream?”

”Can never go wrong with sugar….”

”Or perhaps he’ll choose black?”

Then they leaned forward slightly in their seats, as if this singular choice of what to put in his tea was so incredibly important. Like it would change the very fabric of time or space….. or perhaps they were just scientists. And scientists did act so very odd when curious.

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THE MUSE IS BACK!!! kind of. it's a process alsjfhalsjfhjasf. older threads are coming to me as a bit of a struggle, but i don't plan on dropping things. ♥ that said, if any of my partners are not feeling old things, now is definitely the opportunity to let me know and we can do something brandy new instead!
((this silly bby has a super cool and sad animated movie out !! if anyone who wants to watch, let me know and i'll give u links <3 <3 ))
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