The spirit community was not an optimal place to keep secrets, even if the event in question had not been rife with repercussions felt around the globe. Most of them were old, many felt under appreciated for their work and almost all of them liked to gossip. It wasn't really a fault of the people they were, or had been... being a spirit was often a lonely calling, and talking (occasionally jibing) at others was a way to pass the time that didn't require any of the usual rules of engagement that were sometimes necessary when they clashed.
The northern weather spirit Asiaq, who brought the winter rains before Spring really took hold, patiently listened to the Harvest spirit Marzyana as the latter complained at length about the newly appointed Guardian, Jack Frost. "Honestly," she scoffed, tossing the autumn-painted vines woven into her hair. "He's such a child! He cheated during our bet back in '31."
Asiaq merely smiled serenely and pretended to brush the soft hide and fur-lined dress she wore, because it was common knowledge that Marzyana had been the one making the wager under false pretenses and even two hundred years later, she still thought that announcing her innocence in the matter was taken at face value. The pair of them sat on a stone outcropping overlooking the highlands, where the fields behind them were pregnant with squash and gourds, guided under the autumn mistress' hand. Asiaq's patience was rewarded when Marzyana huffed out a Slavic swear and crossed her arms before muttering, "I suppose he'll still want credit though, for playing such a part in defeating Pitch."
"I'm certain it was more of a collective effort than you're giving the Guardians credit for," Asiaq smiled, knowing that the tale would need to be teased out of her fellow spirit like a piece of stubborn thread into a needle. "But has anyone heard from Pitch Black since then?"
Marzyana sniffed haughtily, waving one dismissive hand towards the horizon as though to encompass the rest of the world. "Gone in the daylight like the bad dreams he brought," she pronounced. "Can you believe that some spirits actually had the nerve to say they wished he'd won!"
"That would have been unfortunate for everyone," the rain mother said sagely. "Who said...?"
"Kalfou, that little czart," Marzyana frowned. The sharp-eyed Vodoun master of bad luck and ill fortunes would have had the temerity to say such things without fear of retribution, for the spirits were no less susceptible to his tricks than humans were. Dealing with him was to play with a lit fuse on a powder keg. "You know, they say that he's interested in courting that lan--"
"Marzyana," Asiaq interrupted gently with another kindly smile to try and keep the conversation on track while inside, she was sighing. "The Boogeyman. If any trace of him remained, who would know about it?"
"Discounting the Moon and the Sandman?" Both of Marzyana's eyebrows raised, for those two animosities were as much legend as the tales themselves, though their origins were muddled. "Mother Goose, perhaps. They're the most invested in keeping him from ever returning. And it's only been six months, my face would still be burning in shame after a trouncing like that!" Then her eyes grew shrewd, sharply so on her youthful face. "But if I had to bet my last buttercup seeds? If Pitch Black hasn't crawled into a hole somewhere to expire, he'll be trading stories with that old warhorse in some bayou."
Asiaq nodded to herself, then rose to her feet and have her hide dress a perfunctory straighten before bending to press a traditional kiss to the younger spirit's head. "Thank you for indulging me," she said. "Plentiful bounties to you, Marzyana."
If the Harvest spirit thought the departure was abrupt, the offered blessing smoothed it over immediately and though she tossed a prideful, "I always make them so!" it was clear by the pleased flush of her cheeks that she had appreciated it. Asiaq summoned up a raincloud and settled onto it, waving goodbye as she headed back north.
Re: FIC STUFF
The northern weather spirit Asiaq, who brought the winter rains before Spring really took hold, patiently listened to the Harvest spirit Marzyana as the latter complained at length about the newly appointed Guardian, Jack Frost. "Honestly," she scoffed, tossing the autumn-painted vines woven into her hair. "He's such a child! He cheated during our bet back in '31."
Asiaq merely smiled serenely and pretended to brush the soft hide and fur-lined dress she wore, because it was common knowledge that Marzyana had been the one making the wager under false pretenses and even two hundred years later, she still thought that announcing her innocence in the matter was taken at face value. The pair of them sat on a stone outcropping overlooking the highlands, where the fields behind them were pregnant with squash and gourds, guided under the autumn mistress' hand. Asiaq's patience was rewarded when Marzyana huffed out a Slavic swear and crossed her arms before muttering, "I suppose he'll still want credit though, for playing such a part in defeating Pitch."
"I'm certain it was more of a collective effort than you're giving the Guardians credit for," Asiaq smiled, knowing that the tale would need to be teased out of her fellow spirit like a piece of stubborn thread into a needle. "But has anyone heard from Pitch Black since then?"
Marzyana sniffed haughtily, waving one dismissive hand towards the horizon as though to encompass the rest of the world. "Gone in the daylight like the bad dreams he brought," she pronounced. "Can you believe that some spirits actually had the nerve to say they wished he'd won!"
"That would have been unfortunate for everyone," the rain mother said sagely. "Who said...?"
"Kalfou, that little czart," Marzyana frowned. The sharp-eyed Vodoun master of bad luck and ill fortunes would have had the temerity to say such things without fear of retribution, for the spirits were no less susceptible to his tricks than humans were. Dealing with him was to play with a lit fuse on a powder keg. "You know, they say that he's interested in courting that lan--"
"Marzyana," Asiaq interrupted gently with another kindly smile to try and keep the conversation on track while inside, she was sighing. "The Boogeyman. If any trace of him remained, who would know about it?"
"Discounting the Moon and the Sandman?" Both of Marzyana's eyebrows raised, for those two animosities were as much legend as the tales themselves, though their origins were muddled. "Mother Goose, perhaps. They're the most invested in keeping him from ever returning. And it's only been six months, my face would still be burning in shame after a trouncing like that!" Then her eyes grew shrewd, sharply so on her youthful face. "But if I had to bet my last buttercup seeds? If Pitch Black hasn't crawled into a hole somewhere to expire, he'll be trading stories with that old warhorse in some bayou."
Asiaq nodded to herself, then rose to her feet and have her hide dress a perfunctory straighten before bending to press a traditional kiss to the younger spirit's head. "Thank you for indulging me," she said. "Plentiful bounties to you, Marzyana."
If the Harvest spirit thought the departure was abrupt, the offered blessing smoothed it over immediately and though she tossed a prideful, "I always make them so!" it was clear by the pleased flush of her cheeks that she had appreciated it. Asiaq summoned up a raincloud and settled onto it, waving goodbye as she headed back north.