yukie: (Default)
(author’s note: this isn’t exactly canonical as such; this is more of a character piece, with me getting a feel for cassian and letting him talk to people.)

Cassian's dreams tended toward “vague as fuck” or “vivid miserable flashback”, so when he started to dream about following a big scruffy skinny black tomcat through an empty city, he kept following the cat even through dawning lucidity just for the sake of it being something new.

It wasn't a blur, and it wasn't charred ruins and the scent of something beyond ordinary death.

It was rainy foggy streets, the scent of wet asphalt, and a twinge in his left knee.

“Waow,” demanded the cat. He had a funny rough kind of voice, like he'd been yowling his little head off on a fence all night. “Wwwuuu...aow?”

“I'm coming,” Cassian griped.

“WAOW.” The cat shook water off his feet, and stared at Cassian.

“Okay, I--”

“WAOW!”

“I'm coming! You--”

“WAOW. WAOW. WAOW. WAOW. WAOW. WAOW.”

“Holy fuck, OKAY! You have four legs, you little shit. I only have two. Give an old guy a break.”

“Waow.” The cat gave him a smuggish slow blink and then bounced off into the drizzly rain, tail an inverted J, the tiny bell on his collar jingling.

“Little shit,” Cassian sighed again, and followed.

Down the road, out of town, out beyond the usual boundaries of the cities of his dreams.

... )
yukie: (Default)
(This is less flashy than the cairn thing but is more accurate. XD; Nico/Vicky's song is taken from here and modified for the person she's singing for.)

Do you despair, my daughter?

Nicola looks up at the enormous raven. She dries her eyes with her sleeve, swallows hard to get rid of the ache in her throat. "No, my lady."

Have you abandoned hope, yet?

"No. I never would."

Why do you weep, so, my owl-daughter? You called out to me so loudly that I could not help but come. it is not wrong to feel sorrow and fear, my daughter, but I trust you will not drown yourself in tears?

Nicola shakes her head. "No." And, "Never. There's no point in that.

Are you afraid?

"Yes. But - not of - not of my power or what I can do. For once. Not this time. I'm afraid I might not ever see her again." And saying that does not make her feel weak or childish. "I love you, and I love your Sister. And now she's gone, and my grandmother can't See her. None of us can feel her, and were worried. Afraid."

Where she has gone, Osana sighs, I cannot follow. Even I cannot find her, which gives me a fair idea of where she may well be. But neither you nor I can go to her.

Nicola looks down at her hands folded in her lap. She's quiet a long while, and fear and sadness slowly ebb, giving way to the calm that comes in the wake of such tears.

"If I call to her," she says, "will your sister hear me?"

The voice of your heart is strong and clear, my daughter, my owlet. I heard you across vast distances, but distance means nothing to the heart. If you love her, then your heart is with hers. Since you love her, it will ever be.

"Even if I can't feel it or hear her." Nicola smiles a bit. "She'll hear me, though. Like you did."

Osana spreads soft black wings in the moonlight. She will hear you. But she will not be alone. You will dare to call to her then, regardless of the risk this might entail? She will not be the only one who hears your voice, if I am correct in my assumptions.

Nicola curls her toes and shivers a bit.

Do you fear?

"Yes, but not as much as I love."

Give her the song of your heart.

Nicola does, voice rising high and clear in the quiet night.

Silver moon upon the deep dark sky,
Through the vast night pierce your rays.
This sleeping world you wander by,
Smiling upon our homes and ways.

Oh moon ere past you glide, tell me,
Tell me, oh where does my loved one bide?
Oh moon ere past you glide, tell me
Tell me, oh where does my loved one bide?

Tell her, oh tell her, my silver moon,
Mine are the arms that shall hold her,
That between waking and sleeping she may
Think of the love that enfolds her,

May between waking and sleeping
Think of the love that enfolds her.
Light her path from far away, light her path,
Tell her, oh tell her who does for her stay!

O sing to her soul, should it dream of me,
Let my memory wakened be.
Moon, moon, oh do not wane, do not wane,
Moon, oh moon, do not wane....

***

Far away, he watches her. She stirred, now, did she not? Impossible as that seems... He thinks she may have raised her head. Only slightly. Did the shadow of her eyelashes on her cheek shift subtly, or is he simply overtired?

He may well be imagining it - how she could be aware at all of anything is beyond him...

...But someone is calling, and if he can hear it, so then might she.

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