On the brink.

"The gazebo is wonderful around this..."  Her companion stilled
her with a hooded look and pursed lips.  

She was about to commend her perennial host, the white wash
covering the soft, sleek metals as they, in turn, cover brick
crackling but never completely crumbling into the soft loamy
greens that were on that side.  The sun never set - it never
even moved - just as the caretakers had wanted it to stay.  The
china was always clinking, tea, small talk and great ideals
came in dollops around them, sliding off their throats in a
calm, unhurried fashion.  It was no exception.

"You're awfully quiet."

The prodding she took in good stead, but she nonetheless sighed.
"I think you'd know."

She, her host, took the jibe as lightly.  "Of course."  They 
took time to sip the camomille, aged perfectly, in the perfect
instant of its greatest flavor.  It was beginning to tinge of
earl grey, slightly of oolong, warming up to almost scalding, but 
she herself wished it that way.

"It... shouldn't bother me.  Doesn't.  Doesn't mean a thing."

"Not too fast, child."  Her tones were never chiding, but always
took a lecture-like posture when grammar was broached.  Etiquette
was far worse a stricture, but that was the common ground of
their ease - elegance was their touch, continuity their blanket...
but passion, passion was always their fire.  She felt the need to
brush her hand, share the electricity.

"Not too fast, child," she repeated, the smile larger than she.
"But it does not mean a thing to me."

"A thing."  She could feel the caress, tongue rolled.  "Names.  
One name is an isoform of another, yet never completely the same,
breaking itself along its own lines, yet insightful, becoming a
definition, another facet, another truth.  Reality describes 
itself, herself."

"To you?"

She considered her guest's flowing green-black hair, the only
fixture that never changed, identified solely with her.  "To
all of us."  She, the guest, could swear that she was singing,
or humming, a song along the lines of "would you love her if
you could?"

                                         l
              i
                  r
        a                                         d
                                  i
                       y
  f
                             m

A wind.

"Hello."

"Sorry."  She smiled, covering her fleeting annoyance, one of being
locked in a mortal shell, susceptible to mortal ails.  It was her
own mind, not an afterimage, and she shooed it, determined to pass
without it cycles more.

"A name," her host reiterated, "just a name.  What was it?"

Another sip, the last she would have in a while.  The cup was 
filled but now it was empty.  "A trans-neptunian celestial body, I
think."  She rose, the folds already smoothed as the other had done
away with the serving set, as though it had never been.

"She calls."  Always was a word she never used, unless she had
really meant it.  The only time she had heard it, love was the next
and... she touched her lips, savoring the tea.  Jealousy never made
accents in her voice - but that was a mistress's power, to hear.

They bade silent farewells, but they knew they would, and would return,
then Setsuna was gone.

----------

Surprise, surprise, Jin.  Yes, this is your fault.  Well, not really.
If I'm wrong, I'd be sooooo embarrassed.

NO-PRIZE ALERT!  The subject header is the title of a song, lacking
one word.  Anyone who can tell me the last word in the title, the 
name of the artist who wrote and sang it and/or from what album it
appears on commercially, will get... something.  I guess.  Let's just
say I'd be surprised if you can, or do so.

Please, if there's something you like about the style of this one, or
don't like, tell me.  I've done nothing by way of writing lately and
I could sure use a pick-me-up or a wake-up call.

Switch
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