Mother of Faces (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
motheroffaces) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cyclicality2015-01-25 06:17 pm
motheroffaces) wrote in cyclicality2015-01-25 06:17 pm
Open!
A. It's too cold to be outside, or she would most certainly be out. It's snowing outside the library, the flakes drifting down beyond the pane, and the woman perched in the windowsill doesn't seem to be anywhere near dressed for the weather. Her robes are light, more ornamental than practical -- some relics of a bygone era. Dark hair is impossibly long, spilling down the sill and nearly to the floor, left loose and undecorated. In her lap is a pad, and she appears to be attempting to draw . . . though it's hard to say, watching her, that she even knows how to hold a pencil. She keeps shifting her fingers, trying to find something that looks comfortable, and the scrawl that she's producing doesn't look much like anything at all.
You'll either find her trying at this or casting down her pencil in disgust, staring out at the falling snow. For anyone spiritually-inclined, she's exuding an enormous amount of spiritual presence; for anyone else, she's merely a woman -- though one who looks very out of place.
B. Sounds like the triads are at it again. They seem to have cornered a tall, pale woman in the nearby alley. Her dark eyes spear them, her voice raised in demand. Whatever she says, however, is lost on the triad members, who smirk. One sparks fire into his hands, ready to move.
The woman answers with no bending. Perhaps she doesn't have any at all.
You'll either find her trying at this or casting down her pencil in disgust, staring out at the falling snow. For anyone spiritually-inclined, she's exuding an enormous amount of spiritual presence; for anyone else, she's merely a woman -- though one who looks very out of place.
B. Sounds like the triads are at it again. They seem to have cornered a tall, pale woman in the nearby alley. Her dark eyes spear them, her voice raised in demand. Whatever she says, however, is lost on the triad members, who smirk. One sparks fire into his hands, ready to move.
The woman answers with no bending. Perhaps she doesn't have any at all.
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Whomever this spirit was, she'd been hurt by humans. She didn't see any good in them. Much like Raava hadn't. And he knew that was a hard image to break.
"Teaching takes time and now that the spirit portals are open and Vaatu's influence is not a danger to the world, they have the best opportunity to learn it than they've had in ten thousand years. Please, I know these two aren't good examples... I know a lot of humans aren't good examples, but humans can be just as amazing as spirits if they're shown how to respect and care for nature as the spirits do. Keeping them afraid will only lead to anger and hate and the problem will never be fixed."
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"I've already waited more than ten thousand years," she replies quietly, and passes him the sleeping spirit in her arms. "How many of my kind need to be healed by you before they understand? How many lifetimes will you live? And how many faces will I make you?"
Her fingers lift, hesitate . . . and lightly touch the hair near his temple before they fall away and she turns as though to go.
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His eyes widened and as she turned away he murmured, "Mother-"
And then a little louder, "Mother of Faces! Wait. Just a moment."
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"I will never not help my kind." Her gaze flicks briefly toward the boys. "I suggest that you teach them well. I am not inclined to be so lenient."
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"While in this case you are correct, Avatar, I suggest that you not take too many of your preconceptions for granted. The world of the spirits is as varied as that of the humans, and a span of mere years does not equal lifetimes."
"You are still a child with the spirits, and you do not know me."
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